The Rise of the Dragon King
by Professor Marmalade
Summary: In the waning years of the Fourth Era of Tamriel, Percy Jackson - a demigod born on a certain day to certain parents - was transported, without explanation, to Skyrim, ignorant of the role he was to play in that nation's history... (NOTE: THIS THING IS CANCELLED, SORRY Y'ALL)
1. Introduction

**FRIENDS.**

**Welcome to the introduction to The Rise of the Dragon King.** **I messed with Skyrim canon a bit, so here I'd like to explain what I've done.**

**FIRST: Go to my profile and open up my map of Skyrim. It's right at the top of the profile and pretty important to fully understand what's going on, in terms of borders and other things. When you've got that open in a tab, continue on my dear reader.**

* * *

**JARLDOM OF HAAFINGAR -  
****Ruler: **Jarlessa Elisif I, the Rose of the Reach. Age: 21  
Heirs: None  
Spouse: High King Torygg Wulfblood IV - deceased.  
**Ruling family:** Clan Wulfblood  
**Historical Allies: **Hjaalmarch, The Rift  
**Historical Enemies:** Whiterun, The Nordic Reach, Winterhold  
**Current Allies: **The Nordic Reach, Hjaalmarch, Falkreathean Hegemony  
**At War With: **The Eastern Marches, The Rift, The Pale  
**Imperial Ties: **Strong

The Haafingarians are currently the strongest people in Skyrim - their own impressive army is bolstered by that of the Imperial Legion, Solitude Inlet is a bustling port of trade, and the capital's wealth is on the rise. Solitude is by far the biggest city in Skyrim, boasting a population of nearly 200,000.

It's the center of Imperial influence in all the Jarldoms, and the greatest roadblock against the unification effort led by Ulfric Stormcloak far to the east.

The current ruler - Elisif - the daughter of the Jarl of Markarth, one of the steps taken to ensure a good relationship between the historically hostile factions of the Haafingarians and the Westerners. She's still barely a woman and is on the throne due to the death of her husband, High King Torygg IV. Elisif could be in line to inherit the throne, depending on her success against Ulfric's efforts at unifying Skyrim.

Clan Wulfblood is in dire straits. Elisif and Torygg produced no heirs, so unless another Wulfblood marries Elisif - and fast - they could fall out of power from both the Jarlhood of Haafingar and their claim to High King. The Kaarstags or the Whitemanes would love to get their hands on that title.

The Emperor's son could also look to Elisif as a wife to increase relations between the two.

**JARLDOM OF THE EASTERN MARCHES  
****Ruler: **Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak III. Age: 54  
Heirs: Ulfric(M), Age 25. Brandr(M), Age 16. Valinna(F), 13.**  
**Spouse: Mikala, Age 41. Formerly of Clan Shattershield.**  
Ruling Family: **Clan Stormcloak  
**Historical Allies: **Whiterun  
**Historical Enemies: **The Rift, Winterhold  
**Current Allies: **The Pale, The Rift  
**At War With: **Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, The Nordic Reach  
**Imperial Ties: **Open Rebellion

Ulfric Stormcloak III is trying something ambitious that's never been attempted before - he wishes to unite Skyrim and cut off all Imperial ties. While Skyrim has always had the official title of "High King", Ulfric actually wishes to make something of it. Despite the title, the Jarls of Skyrim have always had plenty of autonomy. He wants to create a true Kingdom - lower the power of the Jarls and take true control.

In a strange paradox, it's the presense of the Empire that keeps Skyrim weak and divided. As long as the Jarldoms fight their little petty wars, Skyrim will always be a land of war unless a true government is established. If the Thalmor were to invade now, they would destroy the seperate armies of the Jarldoms. If the country works together as one, it could have a chance.

The Empire had always encouraged infighting the keep the Fatherland weak and under control. They encourage division. Ulfric encourages a Nord nationalist feeling.

The Eastern Marches and their citizens - "Marchers" - are strong as always. Ulfric used his powerful army to coerce The Rift and The Pale to his cause, and their combined their three armies into one force of 50,000 - the Stormcloak Army.

Clan Stormcloak is strong, as the younger Ulfric is already one of his father's top generals. He should make a fine King someday. His youngest daughter, Valinna, will be given to Harrald, Prince of The Rift, as she comes to age. Windhelm is the largest city in the east, with a population of around 80,000. The only competing clans in Windhelm are Cruelsea and Shattershield, both of whom are content to follow Ulfric's lead for now.

**JARLDOM OF THE NORDIC REACH  
****Ruler: **Jarl Igmund Pinehorn II. Age: 57**  
**Heirs: Elisif, Age 21(Jarl of Haafingar). Roggard(M), Age 18. Hulgari(F), Age 13. Ergnin(M), Age 8.  
Spouse: Hreir, Age 39. Formerly of Clan Lawgiver.  
**Ruling Family:** Clan Pinehorn**  
Historical Allies:** Winterhold  
**Historical Enemies:** Haafingar, Whiterun  
**Current Allies:** Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, Falkreathean Hegemony  
**At War With:** The Eastern Marches, The Pale, The Rift  
**Imperial Ties:** Weak

The power of the Nordic people of the Reach - "Westerners" - are weaker than they're used to. Due to their past aggression against Haafingar and the native Reachman, the Empire levied heavy sanctions on them and took away nearly half of their kingdom for "free territory". They're not too pleased with the Empire, nor with any other region for that matter.

Clan Pinehorn is historically isolationist, and heavily anti-unification. They've allied with Haafingar and the Empire to preserve their autonomy and fight against the unifying powers.

Markarth is built out of a Dwemer ruin, and as such isn't very large. It holds around 40,000, but they have quite a powerful army and plenty of resources. They - of course - must deal with the native Forsworn who they just can't seem to stamp out.

Clan Pinehorn's power is waning while the Silverbloods are increasing their influence, selling their rich silver mines north to the Haafingarian nobles and south to the petty Colovian lords in Cyrodiil. As such, many expect the Silverbloods to make a move to take the famed Mournful Throne in Markarth.

**INDEPENDENT JARLDOM OF WHITERUN  
Ruler: **Jarl Balgruuf Plainwalker VIII. Age: 36.  
**Heirs: **Frothar(M), Age 11. Dagny(F), Age 9. Nelkir(M), Age 7.  
**Spouse: **Ingrid of Clan Stormcloak - deceased.  
**Ruling Family: **Clan Plainwalker  
**Historical Allies:** The Eastern Marches  
**Historical Enemies: **Haafingar, The Nordic Reach  
**Current Allies: **None  
**At War With: **None  
**Imperial Ties: **Separatist

The ancient city-state of Whiterun and its surrounding landscape is the truest example of classic Nordic culture still in existence. The Jarldom is extremely independent - so much so that it's ignoring its historical ally's attempt at unification.

The petty kingdom itself had never truly allowed the Empire within its borders, as it boasts an independent army of 30,000 men - villagers, citizens of Whiterun, mercenaries, the Companions - anyone who will fight. Their considerable numbers have withstood Ulfric's pressures.

Balgruuf is an opportunistic ruler who used the strife created by Ulfric's rebellion to declare full independence. His people - the "Plainsmen" of the walled kingdom - are generally dissapointed with their ruler. Pressures from both sides have entered his great city, influencing the ancient and great Battleborn and Greymane families, causing them to fight openly and pine for the Jarl's ear.

The Empire doesn't recognize independent Whiterun anymore than they recognize Ulfric's Kingdom of Skyrim, but no troops will dare to march on the stone walls that surround the plains of the city-state. They'll stay independent for the foreseeable future.

**JARLDOM OF THE RIFT  
Ruler: **Jarlessa Laila Lawgiver I. Age: 38.  
**Heirs: **Harrald the Younger(M), 21. Saerlund(M), 18. Clarassa(F), 15.  
**Spouse: **Harrald Lawgiver II, deceased  
**Ruling Family: **Lawgiver  
**Historical Allies: **Haafingar  
**Historical Enemies: **The Eastern Marches  
**Current Allies: **The Eastern Marches, the Pale  
**At War With: **Haafingar, Falkreathean Hegemony, Hjaalmarch, the Nordic Reach  
**Imperial Ties: **Strong

The Rift's support of Ulfric Stormcloak is not one of choice. When Ulfric moved 70,000 trained and professional warriors to the Rift's border, the Jarlessa had little choice to surrender. As the older sister of Balgruuf the Greater who was married off at a young age, she feels a degree of loyalty to her hometown of Whiterun.

Laila's actual control of the city - as has been typical of Lawgiver Jarls - is minimal. Maven Blackbriar is the matriarch of the strongest non-royal family in Skyrim, and she runs everything behind the scenes. Her connections to the Thieves Guild are either unknown to the Jarlessa or ignored.

The citizens of the Rift - the "Riftish" - feel a sense of loyalty to the Empire, but due to the rather harsh nature of Ulfric's obligatory Stormcloak Guard they rarely voice this. Riften's private army was folded into the Stormcloaks and sent to the southern border, ready to attack the Falkreathean Hegemony at a moment's notice.

**THE FALKREATHEAN HEGEMONY  
Ruler: **King Siddgeir Kaarstag I. Age: 22.  
Heirs: None.  
Spouse: Varona, daughter of the Count of Bravil. Age: 17.  
**Ruling Family: **Clan Kaarstag  
**Historical Allies: **None  
**Historical Enemies: **None  
**Current Allies: **Haafingar, The Nordic Reach, Hjaalmarch  
**At War With: **The Eastern Marches, The Pale, The Rift  
**Imperial Ties:** Tense

No existing Jarldom has profited more from the outbreak of war than Falkreath. Once a tiny city-state, its territories are now vast and hold all of the Jerall border, reaching from Lake Honrich to the eastern Reach. It's all been undertaken by the ambitious Siddgeir, who tossed aside the old Jarldom and named himself a King.

Due to a wealth of resources now available and the monopoly on trade to Cyrodiil, the large state is quite wealthy. While their army isn't massive it's well-trained, armed, and resourced. They'll hold the newly won land from the Rift without issue.

It's quick growth and the declaration of King Siddgeir has caused the Empire to become wary towards its Northern neighbor. Should the new land declare independence in the vein of Whiterun, the Empire could do very little to stop it.

**JARLDOM OF HJAALMARCH  
Ruler:** Jarlessa Idgrod Ravencrone XIII. Age 53.  
Heirs: Idgrod(F), 22. Joric(M), 16.  
Spouse: Aslfur, town commoner  
**Ruling Family: **Clan Ravencrone  
**Historical Allies: **Haafingar  
**Historical Enemies: **None  
**Current Allies: **Haafingar, The Nordic Reach, Falkreathean Hegemony  
**At War With: **The Eastern Marches, The Rift, The Pale  
**Imperial Ties:** Weak.

Hjaalmarch is the oddball Jarldom in Skyrim. Their society is matriarchal, and the title of Jarl is always given to the eldest daughter and not the son. Due to that breach in normality, the Ravencrones tend to stay in town.

Idgrod XIII threw in her lot against the Stormcloaks due to Hjaalmarch's historical isolationism. The hold has very little to offer in terms of resources and Morthal holds a meager 15,000 citizens and not many soldiers.

**JARLDOM OF THE PALE  
Ruler: Jarl Skald Whitemane V. Age 72.  
Heirs: Throthgar(M), 41. Kodlak(M), 53 (disowned).  
Spouse: Gravia, deceased.  
Ruling Family: Clan Whitemane  
**

The Pale is a backwards nation governed by a backwards man. Skald V is near senile, and his only legitimate heir, Throthgar, is nearly as addled. The people of Dawnstar claim that the divines damned them to insanity as pay for banishing the true heir - Kodlak - years ago. The disgraced son became the Harbinger of the Companions, and the Pale has only declined.

Their army is puny, and all of their important land is in the Falrand Valley far to the south, which more or less operates independently. This Jarldom is pretty irrelevant at the moment.

* * *

**Winterhold is still technically one of Skyrim's Jarldoms, but they've lost nearly all of their territories to Ulfric's advances and the encroaching Whiteshore Pirates. The pirates aren't crazy, however - the College of Winterhold still stands, and it's still full of very capable mages ready to melt faces.**

**The pirates are quite well organized, and they run a sort of skewed democracy among their ranks. They can't truly be counted as a nation of any sort but they are a formidable naval force to the north.**

**So yeah. In review, Skyrim's more like a collection of petty kingdoms under the general banner of the Empire and High King rather than the strange sort of half-monarchy we see in the game. Also, I tried to make Ulfric less like Hitler and a bit more like Bismark; my goal was to make his cause actually mean something to me, since the one in-game is laughably shallow and dumb.**

**The yellow territory on the map is the half of the Reach that the Empire confiscated. It was LEGALLY set aside for displaced Reachmen, but the Forsworn really weren't accepting that. So Whiterun, Haafingar, and Hjaalmarch have "legally" occupied Reachman's Plateau.**

**The scale that I used is the same one from Daggerfall, which was fairly realistic. The area of the place is around 124,300 square miles, or about the size of modern-day Poland.**

**The money system will be as the same in the Savior of Nirn: 5 Septims to a Pelagius, 20 Septims to a Martin, 50 Septims to a Uriel, 100 Septims to a Mede.**

**I think that's all I've got to say. So, we shall begin.**


	2. Prologue

Everything seemed peaceful, for once.

It was August 21st - the last day of Camp for the year. Around a year after Gaea and the Giants had been defeated by the Seven. Percy had turned eighteen three days before, which was also his two year anniversary with Annabeth.

_TWO YEARS. _He still had a hard time wrapping his brain around that. It felt like an eternity. A really _good _eternity, but still.

He and Annabeth sat at the top of Half-Blood Hill, holding hands and enjoying the view down to the outside world. Percy's mom would soon arrive to give them a ride back to New York, where the two demigods would live out their last year of high school.

The two were content to share the silence together. The two had been getting more and more serious - before long, Percy would have to consider words like _college _and _shared apartment_ and _kids._

Freaking _KIDS!_

He wanted to bring this up to Annabeth but his mouth went as though it were full of cotton. His face flushed and he tried desperately to look down the hill nonchalantly. But of course, his perceptive girlfriend caught it.

"You alright, Seaweed Brain?" She asked, sounding concerned.

He nodded furiously. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just... thinking."

She gasped sarcastically, covering her mouth in mock surprise. "You THOUGHT? Oh my gods, we should call for a holiday." Percy rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder against hers. "Seriously, what were you thinking about?"

"The future."

Her stormy eyes looked at him with a softness. "What do you mean 'the future'?"

Then everything went to Tartarus.

The sky turned a sickly red. A roar filled valley and a huge black figure appeared in the distance. This thing was nothing like Percy had ever seen before. It was clearly a dragon of some sort, but not the Peleus kind of nice dragon. It wasn't a Greek dragon. This was as long as the drakon, and about as nice looking. It flew - obviously - and had long, black spikes on the edge of its wings.

Worst of all, the beast spoke in a guttural language - one that radiated evil and malice. It felt ancient; older than Ancient Greek, older than _everything._

Percy raced to his feet and drew Riptide.

A voice in his head boomed: "_Only you can defeat him. You are the Dragonborn..."_

_"Dragonborn?" _Percy thought back to the detached consciousness

Just then, the whole world turned blue. Then... time froze. Annabeth next to him was cemented in place, along with the dragon in the air. A man shimmered into existence in front of Percy.

The man was old looking and was dressed in a robe. His face was almost completely shrouded by a hood. "As it stands now, you cannot slay him. But you will soon be able to.

For a second Percy didn't move a muscle but then he realized that, just like the man, he could move. The mysteriously figure clearly had something to do with the time warp or whatever it was that they were in.

"Explain..." He didn't know what he wanted the man to explain. The dragon, this "Dragonborn", the strange man... "Explain everything. Who are you?"

"My name is Quaranir. I represent the Psijic Order. I'm here because we at the Order believe in you, and knows you're the most capable man for this task."

The Psijic Order? Percy hadn't ever head the word. "Wha-"

"Our planes are... different sides of the same coin. Yours is Earth. Ours in Nirn. Alduin threatens both planes. Do you understand?"

"No!"

"You've helped end the threat of Me-... Kronos, for which we can thank you for. You are exactly the hero we need in Nirn - one who has knowledge of both worlds."

"In English?"

"You mean Tamrielic? Earth is your planet. Nirn is ours. Our worlds are linked. The Divines rule Nirn, the Gods rule Earth. That big black dragon is Alduin, the World-Eater. You are going to Nirn to learn how to beat that dragon. We at the Psijic Order can freeze time here until you return with all of your knowledge to defeat Alduin, once and for all."

Percy's head nearly exploded from the information overload. "I... PLEASE slow down. So you want to send me over to this... this other world? To defeat this dragon?" Quaranir nodded. "But what about Earth?"

"This world will stay in this condition until you return. Time will remain broken. Now, please. Go to Nirn, learn and train. You MUST bridge the gap."

A giant purple maw opened under Percy's feet. He fell downwards, crying for help and cursing the smug stranger before his vision went black.

* * *

Percy awoke to a dull pounding in his head.

He was lying headfirst in a snowbank. He quickly got up, shivering. He surveyed his surroundings. He was in the middle of a snowy forest - a few inches of the stuff was on the ground. Thin, crisp snow fell lightly through the trees.

He looked down and finally noted his clothing. He looked like someone out of a frontier novel - dressed in animal skins and a leather hood. Why the hell was he?...

He certainly wasn't in New York anymore.

He needed shelter and a heat source of some kind. Then he could figure out exactly where he needed to-

An arrow zipped past his head and embedded into a nearby tree. "Crap!" Percy muttered, ducking low.

"Sir! There's another fugitive here, crossing the border into Skyrim!" Called a distant voice. The panicked demigod patted himself down, finding no weapon. Not even _Riptide. _He was entirely helpless.

Within three seconds, Percy was surrounded on all sides by men wearing Romanesque armor. Six gladius swords were soon pointed at his chest. "Don't move, fugitive." One of them ordered coldly.

What sort of world had he entered?!

A man on a horse walked up to them, calmly. He wore ornate armor, depicting a dragon in the shape of a diamond. "Round him up. We can figure out what to do with him when we get to Helgen."

Percy coughed. "What's going on-"

The swords got closer to him, so he shut up. "He's barely a man, General." One soldier said.

"He's on his own, crossing the border illegally. Knock him cold."

A fist connected with the back of Percy's head and he went out cold.


	3. Helgen

**17th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

Percy woke up on a cart.

His senses slowly returned to him as his vision came back. A quick glance down confirmed that his hands were bound before him. He was sitting on some sort of wooden carriage. It was still morning - the harsh sun peeked in between the snow-covered trees. Only a few inches of snow covered the ground, but it was fairly cold. A man in some sort of blue armor was in front of him, who was also bound by his hands.

"Wh-where am I?" Percy asked, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head..

"Hey, you. You're finally awake," said the man in front of him. He had a strong Northern European accent. His hair was blonde and braided, adorned with many small beads and other ornaments. A bit girly, but Percy didn't comment on it. The guy looked like he could beat the demigod to a pulp. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into the Imperial ambush. Same as us, and that thief over there."

Percy looked to his right to see a woman with brown hair, brown hair, and was wearing rags - and upon looking done at himself, Percy realized he'd been lucky. The soldiers had left him in his strange lightly armored, animal skin and leather getup that Quaranir had somehow zapped onto him. It was moderately insulating, but Percy was still cold.

"Damn you Nords." The thief said, ignoring Percy. She had a slight British-sounding accent. "Always starting your civil wars between your cute little petty kingdoms. If it wasn't for your bloody rebellion-" she looked pointedly at the guy in blue "-I could've taken that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The woman looked squarely at Percy next. "You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks that the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The man in blue pointed out.

"Shut up back there!" Exclaimed the soldier who was driving the carriage. Jerk.

"So where am I?" Percy asked once again.

"Why, you don't know?" asked the man in blue. "You mean to say you haven't even heard of the province? This is Skyrim - homeland of the Nords. It's a rugged land - life is short, and hard. We're around forty miles north of the border. Where are you from, prisoner?"

Percy was unsure what to say until Quaranir's voice burned into his skull. _Daggerfall_. "Daggerfall." He said, uncertainly.

"Ah, so you're a Breton." Blue said. "Fancy magic, do you?"

"Uh-"

"What's wrong with him, huh?" The thief suddenly asked, looked at the last prisoner. He was wearing black fur robes and had his mouth gagged.

"Watch your tongue!" Blue said, sounding aggressive. "You speak to Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of Skyrim!"

"Ulfric? The leader of your little war?"

"I said watch your tongue!"

The woman scoffed and looked at the tied up leader with contempt. "The Empire didn't care about Skyrim until you tried your little nationalistic coup. If they hadn't been guarding the border more tightly than usual, maybe the quiet Breton and I could've gotten through."

"I don't need the thoughts of your crimes pressing on my last thoughts, you Cyrodiilic whore."

"If my hands were untied, you would be impeccably dead right now."

Percy tried to make sense of this situation. A crazy guy named Quaranir had dropped him into a different world, expecting him to find a way to beat some dragon named Alduin. However the cart was taking him, a soldier, a thief with a death wish and some king guy to our execution. Percy was a Breton - whatever that meant - and apparently he was supposed to escape from execution with literally nothing other than rags.

Oh, this was just _great._

The soldier and the thief spoke about something whilst Percy tuned out and tried to piece together what he knew about up to this point. He was in a place called Skyrim, which he figured was like this planet's equivalent to Scandinavia. There was an overarching Empire that was trying to keep the province under it's control, even though a rebellion was in full swing and was started by the man next to Percy.

The cart was allowed through the gates of a settlement, which a sign denoted as "Helgen". Wooden palisades ran on for about a football field's length on either side. As the wooden carriages entered the town, Percy got a glimpse of the place - small and poor. The streets were narrow, and people hustled and bustled about, all looking destitute. There couldn't have been more than a couple thousand living in the place.

Percy still wasn't sure if he could trust that man Quaranir. He was used to betrayal but a lingering feeling in the back of his mind made him think that the stranger wouldn't double-cross him. That is, unless he'd sent Percy to his own execution, which was possible...

A glob of mud hit the back of Percy head, and soon the rest of the cart riders were also pelted. Jeering citizens tossed balls of muck at the traveling prisoners, crying jeers of "traitors" and "Marcher scum". Who knew what "Marcher" meant, but it didn't sound like the civilians thought of it as a compliment.

The five carriages arrived in the town square, right in front of what looked like a military fortress. In the middle of the clearing was a military leader and a hooded man with a huge double-axe. "Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!" Came the shrill voice of the captain. Female.

"Are you ready to face the axe, Breton?" Blue asked, staring at Percy intently.

"Not if I have anything to do about it," the demigod said back coolly. No weapons, no plan... this would be a longshot.

The braid-haired man shrugged. "We'd best not keep the divines waiting for us. Come on."

Angry Woman muttered under her breath, "By Akatosh, if I die listening to this idiot in my ear..."

_Divines. Akatosh. _Quaranir had mentioned that the "divines" ruled over this other earth, while the gods ruled over earth. Percy wondered if Akatosh was one of those deities.

These "Imperials" shoved the prisoners out of the carriages. Percy glanced around as he landed on the ground to see that the town's population had surrounded the small execution area. All together, Percy counted around thirty fellow prisoners. With the five or so Imperials around the block. It couldn't have been too hard to escape.

Granted, Percy was also certain that there were archers hidden _everywhere. _The only spot not surrounded by wall was facing south... hmm...

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" the captain demanded as she looked pointedly at a red-haired soldier holding a list and a quill.

"Empire loves their damned lists," Blue hissed to me. Percy couldn't help but smirk at his poor humor.

The Captain turned to address our group. The quill-holding soldier next to her said, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

The Rebel walked towards the block. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" Blue called out.

"Ralof of Riverwood!"

Blue - or Ralof - went towards his upcoming end without fear.

"Cathrien of House Hassildor, Skingrad."

The thief bored into the eyes of the soldier. "If you kill me, there will be _Oblivion _to pay."

"Count Hassildor has ordered your execution himself." The captain informed the thief matter-of-factly. "He said that a divines-shaming thief is no daughter of his."

"...What? That bastard!" An Imperial grabbed Cathrien by the arm and dragged her towards the block. Percy actually felt bad for the woman; her father (presumably her father, anyway) had ordered his daughter to be killed. It didn't matter what you did - that was a scummy thing to do.

The quill-wielding soldier looked at Percy uncertainly and then darted his eyes back down to the list. He was hesitant. "Wait... You there. Step forward," said the soldier to me. "Who are you?" he asked whilst glaring at me.

"Percy Jackson," he said slowly. He needed time - time to think of something, time to plan his escape. He decided to stall using stale humor. "What's your name, my good man?"

The scribe glanced at the captain before looking hesitantly back at Percy. "My name is, uh, Hadvar..." He was confused, which was generally good for Percy's cause. "I haven't heard your family name before."

"Sounds Breton," another soldier put in.

"Breton, eh? Well, you picked a bad time to cross into Skyrim." The soldier turned to the Captain. "What should we do? He's not on the list."

YES. This valiant, kind man would get Percy out of this. All the soldier had to do was cut Percy's binds and- "Forget the list. He goes to the block." The Captain instructed coldly.

_Stand up to her, you wonderful bastard!_

"By your orders, Captain." Hadvar turned towards the demigod. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

"How about New York?" Percy grumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm sure my remains will be grateful."

"Ah, whatever. Follow the Captain to the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

He followed the Captain reluctantly as she walked towards the block. There must have been an escape somewhere... What Percy wouldn't do for a plan worthy of Athena right now... he looked around the town square. A gate to his left, but as soon as he moved he would have been shot down. Damn...

"Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a hero," said the man who was clearly the military leader here. Higher up than the captain at least. His ornate armor indicated that. "But a hero wouldn't use a power like the Voice to kill to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war! Plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now we're going to put you down and restore the peace!"

Suddenly, a roaring voice echoed through the land. Percy's blood turned to ice - that was the same noise that Alduin had made when he entered Earth. Was he attacking now?!

"What was that?" A soldier asked.

"A dragon." Percy muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Breton?" Ralof asked him.

"Nothing." He whispered back.

"Yes, General Tullius!" the Captain suddenly exclaimed. "Give them their last rites!"

A woman who was clearly a priest of some sort spread her arms and said, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings on the Eight Divines upon ye, for you are the salt and the earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" A rebel marched to the block. Percy's mouth dropped a bit - that guy was pretty freaking brave, he had to admit that. He was pushed down by the Captain lady onto his knees.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" the rebel demanded as the Headsman readied his axe. Percy looked away at the last possible second as the axe swung downwards.

The wet, sickening crunch was deafening in Percy's ears. He'd heard, done, and seen some pretty detestable things, but a beheading with an axe must've been up there on his list. When he looked back, the blood splatter was pretty crazy.

That display, of course, got the rebels all riled up. "You Imperial bastards!"

That sparked some townspeople to yell back. "Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"You're getting what you deserve, you dirty traitors!"

"As fearless in life as he was in deaf," sighed Ralof next to Percy as the Captain shoved the rebel's body off the block.

The Captain turned back. "Next, the Breton!"

Already? Percy panicked in place, not moving for a second. But then Alduin's roar could be heard again. He must've been close, but his stupid hands were bound. He couldn't even fight it should the dragon attack. "There it is again; Did you hear that?" exclaimed a soldier.

"I said, _next prisoner!_" cried the Captain.

"No you didn't. You said 'the Breton'." Percy said meekly.

"Get moving!"

Percy took a step forward and saw a glorious opportunity. He could... YES! "Hey, Hadvar?"

"Uh... yes?"

"Sorry."

The demigod made his move.

Percy moved at top speed towards the Imperial soldier and rammed into him with his shoulder. He pulled Hadvar's gladius from his own sheath and flipped the shortsword into reverse grip. The blade sheared through his wrist binds.

Freed and armed in around a second. This was going unusually well.

Everyone in the weird Romanesque armor drew their gladii, and fifty or so archers made themselves known up on the Helgen walls. Percy was somewhat prepared for this too - he twisted Hadvar's arm behind his back and drew the soldier close to him like a human shield. Percy's stolen shortsword was pressed to Hadvar's throat. The demigod faced north, leaving his back turned on the only side without archer support. His flank was clean.

"DON'T FIRE!" Percy cried.

Hadvar didn't move a muscle. "Who the hell are you?"

"DON'T FIRE! I'M INNOCENT, LET ME GO!"

The captain and the general looked at Percy with uncertainty. The demigod responded by pressing the blade closer to Hadvar's throat. "I don't want to hurt you." He muttered into the soldier's ear. "Don't give me a reason to."

"Drop him!" The general ordered, as the Imperial soldiers took a step forward.

"Not an inch closer!" Percy cried. "In a few seconds, we're all going to have bigger problems. You have to listen to me! There's going to be a-"

As if on cue, Alduin showed up.

The dragon flew into view behind the tower. "What in Oblivion is that?" cried the general, losing interest in Percy.

"Sentries, what do you see?" yelled the Captain.

"It's in the clouds!"

Percy kicked Hadvar to the ground as the dragon landed with a thud on the top of the keep. The townsfolk screamed in horror as a rebel cried, "Dragon!"

The son of Poseidon scanned the area. He needed to get out of there - if Quaranir hadn't been lying, he was still unkillable. Alduin opened his mouth and shouted something in the same language he'd heard at Half-blood Hill. A wall of purple _something _enveloped the whole town of Helgen and rocks began to fall from the sky.

Percy tried to ignore the screams of civilians as they burned to death or died.

Ralof grabbed the demigod's arm and cried, "Come on, Breton! The divines won't give us another chance! We need to get into the keep!"

The archers on the walls were all focused on the flying beast, as were the Imperial soldiers. Percy wasn't exactly sure he could trust the rebel, but given that Hadvar was scrambling to his feet behind him, he needed to get out of there before the guy tried to strangle him for pulling his little trick.

Percy nodded at Ralof. "Yeah, let's get moving."


	4. Unbound

Percy followed Ralof towards a nearby tower. The people of Helgen were screaming and rioting, but the two managed to strong-arm their way through the crowd and past the keep doors. Ralof immediately turned on a dime and held the door shut, shoving his weight against the door. People pounded on it, begging to get in.

"What're you doing?!" Percy asked, surprised at the merciless act. "Let them in! They'll burn to death!"

A hand from behind grabbed the demigod's shoulder. "Those people are doomed, and we are safe. Should we open that door again, we risk death for ourselves."

Percy turned to see the rebel guy - Ulfric Stormcloak. His gag was gone, and his voice was deep, gravelly, and Scandinavian. "Those are innocent people that we're burning to death!" Percy cried exasperatedly.

Another rebel soldier - "Stormcloak", whatever - pushed a heavy crate in front of the door, barring the thing shut. Panting, Ralof looked to his leader. "King Ulfric, what was that thing? Could he legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric pointed out. He glanced behind him. "We need to move. Now!" he cried to his soldiers. There were five or six in the small room.

"Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof looked at Percy. "You too, Breton. You're a good fighter." Percy followed Ralof up the stairs, unsure of what their escape plan was. Percy was still clutching the gladius, but he'd had little experience with Legion weapons.

Why would an army in a different world be so... Roman?

Around halfway up the stairs, the outside wall was suddenly bashed in. Percy was only a few feet away from the incident, and managed to step back when a gout of fire from Alduin filled the small area. Ralof led Percy up to examine the wreckage

Ralof said, "The stairs are blocked!" he poked his head out the hole in the tower. "You see the inn on the other side?" he pointed to a building with its roof blown off. Percy nodded, unsure where this was going. "Jump through the roof and keep going!"

"Are you serious?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes! We'll follow you when we can. Now go!"

Percy looked at the gap. It was no small jump. He'd have to be lucky to make it. He backed up a few steps and jumped for the building.

They'd been taught at Camp to roll out of a jump that high. Unfortunately, that rule was probably not designed for medieval wooden flooring. What was it with this world and it's dark ages shenanigans? Ah, anyway, as Percy jumped into the inn, his weight managed to break the floor and he landed on the ground with a _thud._

Percy's shoulder ached as he got to his feet. Thank gods the building hadn't been lit of fire yet - or else he'd've been toast. The son of Poseidon ran through the opening on the ground floor and back out into the town.

Up just ahead was Hadvar, who was near two citizens. He looked desperately at a small child out in the streets. "Haming! You need to get over here, _now!_" the soldier shouted to the boy.

The boy clumsily ran towards the soldier, and not a second too late. Alduin landed in the opening and blew another gout of fire. Percy dove to the right in cover with the soldier, Haming, and some old man.

Hadvar glanced at the demigod and then had a double-take. "You?! You're still alive?!"

Percy shrugged and said, "I'm pretty resilient. I'm more surprised you got out, given that you don't have a weapon."

The soldier's eyes shot to the shortsword in Percy's hand and sighed. "Can I-"

The sword was offered to Hadvar handle first, which he took gratefully. "That was a clever maneuver you pulled back at the execution." The soldier complimented.

"Thanks. Now, I'm going to get the hell out of here."

Percy dashed out of cover with Hadvar on his heels. The man had showed minimal interest in killing or arresting Percy, so he didn't really mind. "Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar blurted out. Percy didn't know what he meant until Alduin landed on the precipice just above them._  
_

The demigod shot Hadvar a nervous look. "Are you sure about this?"

"It doesn't notice us. Shut up." he said in a low voice. Once the dragon took off again, he ran ahead. "Quickly! Follow me!"

Percy followed through the corpse of a house and over the bodies of slain Imperial soldiers and countless dead civilians. The site of burnt children... Percy needed to continue, or else he'd die and this dragon would never be killed. Alduin apparently meant some serious business. The Imperial soldiers who were still kicking were firing arrows at the beast. One woman was even shooting balls of fire out of her hands. Apparently that was possible here... that must've been what Ralof had meant by magic. This world - Nirn, was it called? - was looking more and more like Dungeons and Dragons every second.

"It's you and me, prisoner! Stay close!" Hadvar called back to him. Percy realized he'd stopped walking and caught back up.

The strange pair entered a courtyard area. Suddenly, Ralof appeared in through a different entrance.

"Ralof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!" Hadvar demanded, brandishing his sword.

Ralof pulled his axe. "We're escaping, Hadvar! You aren't stopping us this time!"

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde." Hadvar stated coldly.

Hadvar began running towards one entrance. He said, "With me, prisoner! Let's go!"

Ralof ran in the opposite direction. "You! Come on! Into the keep!"

Percy froze for a second. Which should he go for... he made the split second - and admittedly stupid - decision to follow Hadvar. The Imperial soldier kicked open the door and Percy followed closely after him, slamming it shut. He scanned the room, finding no other refugees.

The demigod then realized how fatigued he was and fell to his knees, desperately trying to gasp for breath. Hadvar leaned up against a nearby table and tried to catch his breath as well

"Looks we're the only ones who made it." He leaned against a table. "By the divines... that really WAS a dragon..."

_Yeah, no kidding._

Percy managed a nod and struggled back up to his feet. "That thing-" - he said, taking a big breath - "-doesn't mess around."

The soldier only nodded.

The two strangers continued to regain their bearings for around a minute or two before Hadvar asked, "So are you a criminal?"

Percy looked at him blankly. "Of course not. You and your delightful Imperial friends captured me for no reason and sentenced me to death."

"You _were _on the border, and things are... tense. Why were you near the border anyway?"

_Uhh..._

Thankfully Percy was saved by the bell as a deafening roar outside was heard outside. Hadvar shivered as he sheathed his gladius. "We should keep moving. You seem like a good, fast fighter. Quick thinking, at least. Tell you what: you help me escape, and your name is gone from the Imperial execution list."

"Deal."

"Swear you won't stick a blade in my back when I'm not looking?"

"Swear it."

The strange pairing uneasily shook hands. Hadvar's eyes shot down to some wounds on his right arm. "I need to find something for these burns. Go and find yourself a weapon."

Percy turned to examine the room, seeing a few chests. "You know, they brought all of the confiscated weapons from the Stormcloaks in here. Maybe if you were carrying something, it'd be in here."

The demigod took another look at his new outfit. The leather and animal skins were wrapped around him tightly, forming a sort of crude armor. A hood was present, as were a comfortable pair of steel-reinforced boots. A pair of thick gloves were in a small pouch on his right hip. A decently-sized backpack was strapped to his back. Percy felt like some kind of badass frontiersmen, ready to go hunt some buffalo and fight in the Indian Wars or something.

He found a foot-long steel dagger in a shoulder sheath, but he needed an actual sword. Riptide wasn't in any of his various pockets or anything, so he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Might as well check the confiscated weapons. Maybe one of the Stormcloaks had been carrying a half-decent swords.

He opened the first chest and found a whole bunch of axes. Ugh. The second chest was full of claymores and warhammers - both fighting styles he'd never been trained in. One more chest. Maybe he'd get lucky.

Percy found only one item - a solitary longsword in an ornate sheath. He pulled the blade out of the sheath and nearly fell over. _Riptide._

The sword was shaped exactly the same as he remembered. The blade was still bronze... but it wasn't glowing. Normally the sword had an innate glow - the mark of Celestial Bronze. But now it was dim. He swung it... perfectly balanced. This was his sword.

It wasn't glowing... did that mean it could affect mortals now?

Quaranir had managed to give him Riptide... somehow. He fastened the sheath around his waist quickly, hands shaking.

_"Your blade will always reappear in that sheath, Dragonborn." _The voice of the mysterious stranger who'd sent him there was still present in his head. So Riptide would always be with him.

_"Thank you," _Percy thought back. _"Why are you calling me the Dragonborn?"_

Nothing.

Hadvar was wrapping up his burns with a rag when he turned around. "That's a nice sword. You found that in the chest of weapons?"

"Yeah. It's mine." Percy looked down at the blade with comfort. This thing had killed Mrs. Dobbs all those years ago. It'd always been with him. Even though none of his friends were there at his side, Riptide was.

Hadvar looked at the weapon warily. "That's an expensive looking piece you've got there. You steal that?"

Percy bit his lip. He didn't have a noble last name or anything, of course he'd be curious how he'd come into possession of such a nice sword. "It was a gift from my mentor." He said stiffly, hoping Hadvar would accept it.

"Which mentor?"

_Crap._

"He's a famous swordsman in..." what was that place Quaranir had told him? "Daggerfall. I don't think you would've heard of him."

Hadvar shrugged. "I suppose I wouldn't. I hope you know how to use it."

Percy rubbed his thumb along Riptide's hilt. "I can definitely handle myself in combat, Hadvar."

"We'll see about that, uh..."

"Percy Jackson."

"Ah, yes. You were the one with the oddball name."

"Shouldn't we be moving?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. Well, through the door and further into the keep, I guess." Hadvar took the lead and opened the door, sword at the ready. He quickly led the strange due down a hallway and towards another room, barred by a chain-drawn gate. There were a couple of voices that sounded Nordic and one that sounded familiar, though Percy couldn't place it.

"Stormcloaks... let's see if we can reason with them." Hadvar said cautiously. He pulled a chain, which slowly opened the gate.

Hadvar led the way into the room and cleared his throat. "Now, we only want to-"

"Damn faithless Imperials!" cried the Stormcloak and lashed out at Hadvar, which he dodged. Percy stepped out into the room and was attacked by another rebel, a young woman with an axe.

Percy parried her strikes, wanting to avoid killing. He didn't really have anything against the Stormcloaks, and didn't want the blood on his conscience. After parrying her around ten times, she started to get tired. Percy disarmed her and put his sword at her throat.

"Surrender, or I will kill you." He threatened, even though he really didn't want to. His trepidation leaked into his voice, and the rebel recognized it and snarled with renewed vigor.

Just before Percy could retaliate, he felt metal against his neck. A quick glance down confirmed that it was a steel knife. A British voice hissed, "Drop the sword, love."

It was that woman from the cart - it had to be. She must've escaped and gone with the rebels. Hadvar finished off the man he was fighting and rushed over to stab the fallen woman on the ground. He turned to Percy with frightful eyes. "It's you again." He said, looking at the thief. "Let him go, you thief!"

The woman laughed crazily. "Why would I do that? So you can put that gladius through me as soon as I do?"

Hadvar's eyes darted between the thief and Percy. "Why do you even care about this silent man here, Imperial?" The woman goaded. "Cavorting with criminals sentenced for death isn't exactly the way of the Imperial Legion."

Huh. Legion.

"I joined up with the Imperials to police scum like you!"

"What's wrong with me?! I'm just trying to get by."

"You're the daughter of the Count of Skingrad!"

"Sod that! That's a life of lecherous nobles and royal trash."

"All I hear when you speak is a bored and spoiled youngest daughter."

"WILL BOTH YOU YOU SHUT UP?!" Percy finally interjected. The thief's knife pressed color against his throat - any more pressure and blood could be drawn. "You guys have your differences. But there's a dragon outside! This is stupid!"

The woman snarled. "And what do you suggest then, love? I let you go so you can put that pretty sword of yours through me? No." Hadvar only looked between the two of them, gladius arm shaking. "So you're just going to stand there? That's fine."

"No. I'm going to kill you." Hadvar growled.

By the Gods, the soldier was a poor negotiator. Percy cursed under his breath in Ancient Greek. "Listen... was your name Cathrien? I forget."

"That's the name my father gave me." The thief said stiffly. "I go by Sparrow."

"Stupid name," Hadvar muttered.

"Not helping!" Percy cried exasperatedly. "Listen, Sparrow. We'll let you go if you don't attack us."

Hadvar was looking at me with a puzzled expression. "What are you doing? She's a wanted criminal! She's-"

"She's just angry at her dad," Percy said weakly. "We can let her go."

"I..." Sparrow hesitated before slowly removing the blade. Percy quickly grabbed his sword in case she tried anything. For a brief moment, the odd trio looked at eachother, weapons at the ready. Trust wasn't exactly at a maximum.

Percy cleared his throat. "Alright. Sparrow, the confiscated weapons and armor are in the room back there. If you were carrying anything, it's bound to be in there."

The thief's eyes flashed between the Imperial and the demigod. "You want to give her possessions back to her?" Hadvar asked cautiously. "She's a thief! It could be skooma, or-"

"Are you daft? It's just my clothes and my bow; I'd like both of those back." Sparrow leveled. Upon looking at the dagger she held, Percy could tell she was unfamiliar with the weapon. Probably something she'd scavenged. "I'm going to get them."

"I'm not letting you out of my site." Hadvar insisted.

Percy clenched his fists. These two were _impossible. _"Look, Hadvar. You stay here and stand guard - I'll go with her."

The thief relaxed a bit. She nodded stiffly, switching to reverse grip on her knife and clenched her fists. "That okay with you, Nord?"

Hadvar uncomfortably looked at the two former prisoners. "I... I guess. Hurry back, we have to keep moving."

Sparrow led the way down the short hallway back to Percy and Hadvar's point of entry. The former was trying to get a read on the thief. She was in her late teens or early twenties, around Percy's age. She was kind of cute, in a roguish sort of way. Percy didn't trust her at all.

"Why'd you go with the Imperial, Rabbit?" She suddenly asked as they entered the room. "Scheduled for a shave with an executioner, and you went with the people who put you in binds."

Percy noticed that she called him "Rabbit". He really hoped that didn't continue. "It was a split-second decision. I can't explain it." Sparrow cracked open a chest and rummaged through it.

"So what did you do? Murder? Thievery? Treason, maybe?" She asked, tossing aside an axe.

"No. I'm innocent."

Sparrow scoffed. "Sure. We're _all _innocent."

Percy saw no reason to argue further, so he merely leaned against the wall and waited. "There you are!" She finally said, pulling a shortbow out of the container. The thing looked expensive - a polished, dark-reddish wood. She drew back the string. "Ipê wood, straight from Elsweyr. Stole it from a Khajiit tradesman. This piece is a beauty."

She ran her hands along the belly of the bow lovingly before setting it on the ground next to her. "And here are some arrows... piss-poor Nordic design, but they'll do... ah. There's my outfit. Turn around, Rabbit."

Percy did so as the thief shimmied into her clothing. "We can't trust the Nord. We'd do well to watch our own backs," she said with contempt in her voice.

"He seems like a decent guy, I don't know. And with the dragon, we're going to need numbers."

Percy could practically hear her eyes roll. "As soon as we get out of here, Rabbit, we're going to be in the middle of nowhere. We ditch the Imperial and find the nearest town. THEN we can go our seperate ways."

The demigod shook his head. "And how do I know that you won't put an arrow in my back to steal my sword?"

"And I don't know if that pretty sword will be going in between my shoulder blades as soon as I turn around. We're even."

"Partners in distrust."

"Precisely. You're quicker than you look, Rabbit."

"Can you not call me that? My name is Percy."

Of course that was ignored.

She grunted. "I'm all armored up now." Percy turned around to see the woman in black leather armor with pouches and bandoliers covering the front. A hood was drawn back, and she had a quiver over her back. Upon picking up her bow, she looked pretty badass. "Let's go, Rabbit. And watch out for that Nord. He can't be trusted."

Now feeling a bit threatened, Percy only sighed. "Why Rabbit?"

"I'd wager you're wonderful at hopping along. Now, come on."

Percy followed Sparrow back through to Hadvar's position, where he was trying to bash open a lock. "Going somewhere, mate?" Sparrow asked, sauntering over to the door. "Step aside. I'll get it open."

She dropped to a knee and pulled a lockpick out of one of her bandoliers. Hadvar looked at Percy nervously. "We have to watch our backs," he whispered. "If she follows us, we have to be ready to leave her."

Great. Caught in between two people who really wanted to kill each other. Percy only nodded stiffly back at the soldier.

"Ta-da." Sparrow said as the lock clicked open.

They rambled down a spiral flight of stairs until the trio came to another long hallway. A few Stormcloaks down at the other end. Sparrow sent an arrow down towards them, but immediately the middle of the hallway caved in, sealing off the rebels. "Damn. That dragon doesn't give up easy." Hadvar said, looking at the rubble.

"And did you expect a giant flying mythical creature to give up chase because its lunch is inside of a building?" Sparrow shot back. Oh, gods. This was going to get really old, really fast. "Come on, then. There's a door here. We're not done in yet."

"Shh!" Percy cried, pressing his ear against the wooden door. He heard Nordic accented voices inside. "People in there. They might be Stormcloaks."

The demigod slowly opened the door to find two rebels frantically searching for supplies. "Stand down! If you let us pass, we'll leave you alone!" He cried, brandishing Riptide.

"They've got an Imperial!" A burly man with a beard shouted. "Kill them!"

_Excellent._

The big guy with age took a swing at Percy, which he just barely ducked. Annoyed, the demigod rushed forward and put Riptide through the rebel's chest. As he realized what he'd done. Percy stared at the bloody sword in his hand for a second before the other guy was on him. This one was smaller and quicker, using a sword. Given Percy's rather broken up mental state, the Stormcloak got the advantage. Just before the rebel's blade entered Percy's belly, and arrow embedded itself itself in the Stormcloaks throat. The poor bastard fell like a rag doll.

Percy looked down at his bloody sword again. He killed a man who he had no quarrel with... jeez...

Sparrow didn't look much better. Her face was green, and her hands shook. "First time?" Percy asked with a low voice.

She nodded slowly. "Yes."

Percy cleaned his blade off on the Stormcloaks armor and scanned the room for Hadvar. The soldier was leaning against the doorframe with a neutral expression. Percy gave him a cold look and took a step towards Sparrow. "Thank you. You saved my life."

"Sure."

"We should, uh... we should keep moving forward." Hadvar said uncertainly, looking at the two members of their uneasy little party.

Sparrow turned to the Imperial with an outstretched finger. "Me and him have NOTHING against these rebels of yours! And you stood back and let us do the dirty work."

"Percy charged in by himself!" Hadvar defended, hand going to his sheath. "We could've reasoned with them!"

"Yes, because that worked so excellently for you last time!"

Percy threw Riptide to the ground in rage. "Will both you SHUT UP?!" He cried, looked at them angrily. "Listen. Hadvar, this _is _your fight. You're taking lead next time. And Sparrow? Just... be nice."

At the same time, the two adversaries exclaimed:

"How can you take his side like that, Rabbit?"

"You're trusting a thief with our lives? Are you crazy?"

The two looked at each other with contempt. Percy sighed and picked up his sword. "Listen. We're safe in numbers. We get out of this keep, and we'll figure out what we're going to do then. Deal?"

Sparrow shot another poisonous look at Hadvar. "...Deal."

"Deal."

Percy nodded. "Hadvar, you're in the lead then. Let's go."

* * *

**SORRY FOR THE WAIT.**

**I'm going to take my time with this thing, since I want it to be good and not super awful. Also, I got some real life stuff going on. Season 2, Episode of Telltale's Walking Dead came out on Tuesday, which derailed plans. Also, AP EXAMS SUCK. And I have them this upcoming week because we had some clutch snow days this winter, which pushed 'em back. I'm still screwed, of course.**

**Anyways, onto relevant matters. I'VE ALREADY RETCONNED SOME STUFF. I named all the important families in Skyrim as "houses" because I didn't think there was a lore-friendly name for them otherwise. As it turns out, there is a name for an important family in Skyrim - "clan". So I've edited the Introduction accordingly, changing - for instance - House Wulfblood to Clan Wulfblood. Just thought I'd mention that.**

**Anyways.**

**Face Hugz,**

**Professor Marmalade AKA the Daedric Prince of Crossovers**


	5. Lavender and Frostbite Eggs

Down another set of stairs (this place went seriously deep), the group encountered another fight. This was between two Imperial torturers and a handful of Stormcloaks, which the rebels won easily. Three of them remained. Hadvar grimaced as he watched the fight end. "I'm going in." He said, charging headfirst into the torture room with a war cry.

Sparrow had an arrow at the ready in case someone discovered Percy and her. "You think you can kill again?" Percy asked quietly.

"Shut up, Rabbit." She muttered, keeping an eye on the bow's sight window. "And I'll do what I have to in order to stay alive."

Percy considered her words for a few seconds. "If today was your first, then what'd you do with that bow before?"

"Needle arrows."

"What?"

Sparrow rolled her eyes and sighed. "It's a trick a friend back in Bruma taught me. If you use a thinner broadhead on an arrow, it's not lethal and the target won't bleed out. So you take a sewing needle, fletch it, cover the thing with a knockout poison, and then-"

"Ah. I get it. That's pretty smart," Percy commended awkwardly. He was wholly unsure if she was trustworthy; but Hadvar might've been worse. "How's our friend down there doing?"

"He's managing. One of the rebels is dead."

"That's, uh... that's good, I guess." Another few seconds of silence. "If he were in danger, would you shoot again? Save him?"

After nearly a minute of nothing, Sparrow sighed. "I don't know. He's got another one down... and now another. They're all dead."

Percy led the thief down towards Hadvar. "So where do we go now?" The demigod asked, trying to not look at the dead bodies strewn about the room. "Is there a way forward?"

Hadvar nodded. "Aye. There's a passage leading... somewhere. I think it links up with a natural cave further along. It's our best bet, let's move."

"Hold up there, laddie." Sparrow interjected, looking at a locked prison cell. "I see septims in there. One second."

The soldier made a noise of revulsion as the woman quickly picked the lock and scooped up a handful of large copper coins. They were around the size of a quarter and seemed to be sloppily made. "I'll never turn down a copper. Nicer to see a Uriel silver or a Mede gold but not bad."

"I don't need to know your preferences of theft," Hadvar grumbled, looking down a tunnel. "Come on, let's go further."

The three went down a hallway with prison cells on either side. There was some pretty gruesome stuff in there, but Percy was fairly zoned out at the moment. He kept replaying the death of that Stormcloak he'd stabbed over and over. The first mortal flesh Riptide had ever rended. It made him feel sick.

Especially since he was only at odds against the deadman because of the very much alive man in Imperial armor with him. Percy didn't much like Hadvar.

They came to a gate that was closed and locked, shutting off further access into the cave. Hadvar pulled a lever on the wall nearby and the wooden mechanism swung open. "What d'you suppose they'd keep on the other side of a gate?" Percy asked Hadvar cautiously.

"I don't know," he admitted, taking the lead. "I've never been stationed in Helgen. I've never heard of an Imperial keep designed like this one. We'll see, I guess."

"That just fills me with confidence," Sparrow muttered.

Hadvar gasped, and then swore. "Yeah, we've got a problem."

A large cavern was covered in cobwebs and huge, disgusting slimy sacs of some kind. And crawling around them were bear-sized insects - spiders.

"What is this Lord of the Rings nonsense?" Percy asked exasperately.

"Uhh, what?"

"Nothing."

The monsters scuttled around, clacking their disgusting and dripping mandibles. "What are they?" Sparrow breathed. Well, at least Percy wasn't the only one lost here.

"Frostbite Spiders. They're pretty common in Skyrim." Hadvar whispered.

Percy wasn't seriously arachnophobic; everyone hated spiders to a certain extent, but he hated things like centipedes and roaches more. Still, these things were pretty terrifying. "I don't suppose they're friendly." He said weakly.

"No. Hostile to everyone."

"Great." Sparrow drew her bow. "So we've got to kill them, then?"

"Yeah. Watch out - they have a nasty poisonous spit."

"Naturally. I'll lead off."

She sent an arrow at the nearest insect, with speared the spider's head, killing it instantly. Percy gripped Riptide. A cold feeling shot down his spine.

Sparrow nailed three more of the disgusting things. "I don't know what the big deal is, Imperial. This is-"

A glob of blueish-green poison shot towards the woman, hitting her in the arm. She cried out in pain and grasped it, falling to her knees. "Crap!" Percy kneeled over her, unsure of what to do. "Hadvar! What should I do?"

The soldier's eyes quickly looked from the thief to the spiders, and then back to Percy. "Leave her. She's just a thief. We can escape!"

Percy gave him an incredulous look. "I'm not leaving someone to die! Especially someone who saved my life not too long ago."

"Well, I don't have any antipoison! She's not a Nord; she's going to die."

Sparrow continued writhing in pain, unable to form words. "Help me kill the spiders, at least!" Percy cried.

Hadvar hesitated before nodding. "Alright. Let's go."

The first spider spit a glob of poison at Percy.

He barely managed to roll out of the way and towards the insect, which he stabbed through the abdomen. He pulled out Riptide and found it covered with disgusting spider guts. There was only one of the monsters left; the biggest one.

This thing was by far the largest. It was around six feet in length, and with all of its eyes and disgusting snapping bits, Percy really didn't want to get near that thing. "Hadvar? Can you shoot a bow?" The demigod asked, panicking.

"Ehh... more or less." Hadvar said slowly. "Listen... we should just make a run for it. That spider won't die easily, and you're one drop of poison from turning into that thief over there."

Percy glanced back at Sparrow, who was muttering madly while clawing at her poisoned arm. "We have to do something to help her."

"It's pointless. The only antidote I was ever taught was treating the burn with Frostbite Eggs crushed up with lavender. But that's just an old wive's tale. Listen to me: there's a big town north of here - Riverwood. It's around 25 leagues from Helgen. We get out of here, and you can head there."

Percy shook his head vehemently. "I won't let anyone just die. It's not right. We have to try."

Hadvar looked at his former prisoner disappointingly and shook his head. "It was nice meeting you then, but I don't have a death wish. I'm going to make a break for it."

"No! Don't-"

The soldier charged forward with reckless abandon, gladius drawn. He charged straight at the thing. Almost with boredom, the spider glanced down at Hadvar and spit right in his face. It brought it's fangs down into the soldier's chest.

"HADVAR! NO!"

Percy had thought the execution of a man with a axe earlier was gruesome. He thought seeing a gigantic, bear-sized spider was disgusting. He'd seen a lot of messed up shit in his time... but ultimately, this took the cake.

The frostbite spider ate Hadvar.

It was the most horrible, revolting thing the demigod had ever seen. It ripped the dead man limb from limb, and used poison to make it easier to swallow his meal. The entire time, Percy stood in place, frozen in fear. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away.

No. He'd lost one of his companions; he wasn't going to lose the other.

A rage filled him. This stupid, dumb spider had just eaten a human being. It needed to die, and it needed to die painfully and quickly so Percy could help Sparrow. Hadvar... Hadvar had said frostbite eggs and lavender was a cure. He had to get those.

And out of sheer anger, Percy did something he'd never done before.

Despite the fact that he didn't have any significant sources of the liquid near him, a pointed spear made of water appeared in his right hand. He threw it at the spider with a vigor he didn't know he had in him.

The spear flew through the air and impaled the spider right in between his eight eyes. As the spear dissolved, the spider laid down, dead.

He'd figure out exactly how he'd pulled a magic spear of water that managed to cut through a spider's probably impressive armor later, but there were more pressing things to deal with. Sparrow was still dying.

He kneeled over her, seeing that she stopped struggling. She was still breathing, albeit shallowly. Percy felt her forehead; ice cold. _Frostbite_ spider. He didn't have a ton of time.

Percy really wasn't looking forward to finding spider eggs, so he decided to get lavender first. His mother used to grow the stuff in her window-box garden, so he knew what it looked like. Time to go on further and find his way outside.

"I'll be right back." He said to Sparrow, who seemed out of it. Still, he felt better by telling her that.

He dashed through a thankfully empty chamber before emerging into a forest. The sun hung at midday and barely poked through the trees. The cave entrance into the keep was in the middle of a pine forest.

Great. This wasn't exactly an ideal place for a flower to grow, but he had to look. He also couldn't stray far from the cave entrance, lest he lose its location.

And then a miracle: He looked to his right and found an ideal patch of lavender.

After sending a quick prayer of thanks to every god he could think of, he collected two handfuls of the flower. He wasn't sure how much he'd need, so better safe than sorry. He dashed back into the cave, dreading his next task.

Percy quickly set the flowers next to Sparrow and set about the second part of his work: finding spider eggs. He picked up Riptide - still covered in spider guts - and walked into the spider lair again. He looked at the giant slimy sac warily. If there was ever a place for eggs, this would be it.

He hacked into the thing, preparing for the worst. A few baby spiders crawled out, but nothing too gross or substantial. A single disgusting baseball-size egg rolled out with a plop. This was going to be fun.

He grabbed Hadvar's rucksack and shield off the ground and decided to use the polished metal from the shield as a working surface. He crushed the egg up using the flat side of Riptide, and threw in the herb. After a few seconds of mixing, he now had a disgusting green-and-purple paste.

Riptide was used to scoop up the gross concoction (poor sword was getting all the gross jobs). Percy carefully slathered the area were the poison had hit Sparrow, making sure he didn't touch it himself.

After evenly spreading the stuff against the wound, all that was left was to wait. He kept a head on her forehead, and miraculously her body heat returned. Her eyes focused on Percy, though she looked confused. "What in Oblivion..."

"How do you feel?"

"Like..." her eyes were glassy, and her usual wall of toughness had fallen. "I felt like I was burning, but... not. I... I can't..."

"S'alright, you don't have to describe it." Percy removed his hand and looked back down at the concoction on her arm. He wasn't sure if he could remove it or not. "The spider's dead. We're safe."

Sparrow finally noticed the egg-and-lavender mush on her wound. "Disgusting..."

Percy shrugged. "It's what saved your life. A home remedy to frostbite venom. We got lucky that there was lavender right outside the cave entrance."

"Do I want to know what the green stuff is?"

"Absolutely not."

The thief nodded slowly and looked around. "Where's the Imperial? Did he run away?"

Percy set his jaw and shook his head. "No. He, uh... a huge spider... it killed him."

The demigod would never be unable to see that. A grown man being torn apart and devoured by a giant spider... he could definitely see how Annabeth had been so afraid of them. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "The fucking monster ripped him apart and ate him."

Sparrow stared at the ceiling of the cave, unable to say anything. "That man was a twat... but that isn't right. Isn't fair."

Percy swallowed and then nodded. "...Yeah."

They sat in silence for a few seconds before she struggled into a sitting position. "Help me get this shit off." She muttered, gesturing to her wounded arm.

Percy complied, using a rag from Hadvar's pack to wipe the arm off. Sparrow's forearm had apparently healed completely - no scars or signs that she'd nearly died from poison. That weird remedy had worked beautifully. Eventually, Percy got her to her feet.

"Alright, then. We're on our own, now." Sparrow said darkly, retrieving her bow. "What're we going to do? I've never been to Skyrim, have you?"

"No."

She shook her head. "Great."

Percy dug into Hadvar's pack, searching for anything useful. He pulled out a couple of glass bottles full of red liquid, which he displayed to Sparrow. "Healing potions. Can you give me one? I'm still feeling weak."

"Uhh, healing potions?"

"Have you got spiders in your ears, Rabbit? Yes, a healing potion."

He handed the bottle to her and continued to look through the rucksack. "Uhh... okay, here's a map of Skyrim. Here's Helgen, down here." He gestured to a hand-drawn canvas map, which displayed the province. "Hadvar mentioned Riverwood was the place to go... up there. Twenty-five leagues north."

"That's the nearest town?"

"I guess so."

Percy really had no idea exactly what to do next. He apparently needed to figure out how to kill that dragon, but he didn't exactly know how to do that. Getting into civilization and finding out where the dragon was last seen might help him. "We need to go there."

"Twenty-five leagues is two days of walking, if we move fast and don't take a lot of breaks." Sparrow bit her lip and then looked up at Percy. "We travel together to this town, and then we part ways." She stuck out her hand. "Deal?"

Percy nodded. "Deal."

The faintest trace of a smile crossed her face. "Anything else in that pack we can use, Rabbit?"

"Let's see here... well, here's a cooking pot." Percy pulled out the iron instrument with confusion. "Who would lug around a cooking pot with them?"

"Who knows?"

Percy set the thing aside. "Uhh... that's a wood-chopping axe... a canteen... some flint... our friend here was a regular boy scout."

"What?"

"Nothing. We'll probably need all of this." Percy put the supplies in his own pack before handing the axe to Sparrow. "Hold on to that?"

"What do you think I am, a pack mule?"

"I'm only lugging around a cooking pot and a canteen, I think you can handle the axe."

She rolled her eyes and slid the instrument into a waist sheath. "Alright then. Let's go."

They emerged out of the cave and into the forest. Sparrow breathed in the fresh air. "Ahh, something that doesn't smell like spider crap."

Percy nodded, and squinted through the treetops. "Based on the sun, it's got to be around three in the afternoon. We can only cover a few leagues before it gets dark." He pointed at the sun. "Rises in the east, sets in the west... that way is north. We'll go until we find shelter." He looked at her with unease. "Are you alright to go? I mean, your arm-"

"My arm is fine." She snapped, as she started walking in the general direction of north. "Let's hop along, Rabbit. Come on."

**RIP Hadvar. In this parallel universe, we hardly knew we.**

**Uhh, that hurt a bit to write, I'm not gonna lie. I'd become fond of him due to The Savior of Nirn, but he's unnecessary here. And why not just murder characters left and right, especially characters everyone likes? I'm sure that's all something we can get behind.**

**In all seriousness, I MADE ANOTHER MAP OF SKYRIM. I dotted the country with lore-friendly towns, mainly drawing from The Elder Scrolls I: Arena. The only towns of my own creation are Bleakstone, Kingsbane, and Dalheim. Check out that map too.**

**Okay. Think that covers it. Have a nice day.**

**Face hugz,**

**Professor Marmalade, AKA the Daedric Prince of Crossovers**


	6. Rabbits and Flashbacks

**I think I've devised an updating schedule, finally. It was kind of necessary since I'm currently writing two stories simultaneously.**

**On Mondays/Tuesdays, I will update Vigorous Restitution: A Sunken Debt. On Thursdays/Fridays I'll update this. ****Just thought you should know.**

**Anyways, KEEP THE REVIEW TRAIN GOING. Nothing is more motivating than that.**

* * *

"I spy with my little eye..."

"Please, for the love of the divines, STOP."

Percy and Sparrow had been on foot for a few hours now, slowly making their way north. The demigod knew that a person could cover three miles an hour while walking, so progress was going to be slow. Most of it was spent in silence. When Sparrow did speak, she said very little.

The past ten or so miles had all been forest - no sign of a cave or any significant shelter. Percy really didn't like the idea of camping out in the open. If spiders were around at night... even more so.

Percy squinted up at the sun. "It's going to be dark soon. We need to find someplace to camp out."

"Aye... but I don't fancy camping in the middle of the woods. Too vulnerable. No, we need shelter.

The two silently agreed on the point. Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw something that broke through the endless trees. "What's that?" He asked, pointing in its vague direction.

Sparrow scoffed. "You're seeing mirages in the middle of the forest, Rabbit! That's..." she squinted at what Percy pointed out and then her eyes widened. "By Oblivion, I think it's an overhang!" She took off for it, dashing at full speed.

Percy didn't have any trouble keeping up with her. He liked to think he was in pretty decent shape. "Mirages in the middle of the forest, eh?" He teased through gasps of air.

"Congratulations on being not wrong, I suppose."

"I resent that."

They arrived at the rocky outcrop, relieved to find that it would most definitely work. The granite jutted out around twenty feet, allowing ample cover in case in rained or anything. Probably wouldn't do much of anything against cold, but hey. Beggars can't be choosers.

Percy sighed. "Alright. Camp, then." He slung off his leather knapsack and unpacked the pot, the flint, and the canteen. "Looks like we're sleeping on the ground, but we'll have fire." He glanced at the abundance of trees around them. "Only thing we don't have is food..."

Sparrow clenched her jaw. "I can shoot a bow with the best of them, sure. But I've never hunted for survival. By the Eight, I've never hunted at all."

"Doesn't have to be much. Maybe just a rabbit or two."

"Just a rabbit or two?" Sparrow pointed her bow at Percy jokingly. Holy crap, _she made a joke. _

"Har har." She handed Percy the woodcutting axe, who accepted it gratefully. "You handle the food, I'll try to get a fire going. Be back before dark."

She scoffed. "Okay, mom."

Percy rolled his eyes and felt this strange rush of anger flow through him. He shook it off. He needed to cut up some wood for a campfire. How hard could that be?

The answer was "pretty goddamn hard".

He obviously had to find a tree that was already felled, since he had no idea how to chop one down himself. He eventually found a dead log and hacked it up into pieces, slowly carrying it back to their little rock camp.

Alright; step one, in the books. Now he just needed to get a flame blazing...

He lined the pile of wood with rocks, like Grover had taught him all those years ago in Wilderness Survival Class at Camp Half-Blood. Upon looking down at his handiwork, he realized nearly an hour had passed. Sparrow still wasn't back.

No time to worry about that. He pulled out Hadvar's old tinderbox, finding the flint, firesteel, and now all he needed to do was light the damn thing. Of course, he'd never learned how to use a tinderbox - matches were in favor over on Earth.

After struggling and fumbling around for nearly five minutes, he managed to set fire to the wooden pile. He sat next to it gratefully, as it had suddenly become rather cold.

Dammit; when was Sparrow going to be back?!

Darkness had nearly fallen as the temperature in the woods began to plummet. It wasn't until just before the sun had left the sky when he heard the stomping of footsteps nearby. A woman clad in black rushed up to the fire. "Wolves." She managed to breath.

Percy swore and raced to his feet, drawing his sword. Indeed, several wolves were pursuing the woman, and were only around fifty yards away. Sparrow took a potshot and wounded one of them before Percy had to deal with the issue.

Fighting with wild animals was always the worst. They never attacked rationally or had recognizable patterns, unlike your average monster. The first beast leaped straight and Percy - and subsequently, straight into Riptide.

He managed to wrench the blade out of the wolf quickly to see that Sparrow had put another arrow into the wounded animal, killing it. Only one more, and upon seeing that both of its buddies were dead, it yelped and ran off.

Percy panted and dropped his sword to the dirt. "Jeez."

"Yeah..." Sparrow held up a pair of rabbits weakly, each with arrows through the neck.

"Nicely done. Now we just have to make them edible."

They each skinned one, moving quickly. Darkness had totally fallen, and being this vulnerable couldn't be a good thing. Percy quickly had a makeshift spit going, and the two leaned close to the fire in silence.

Sparrow examined Percy closely. "Your eyes are broken," she finally said.

The demigod looked at her with eyebrow raised. "'Scuse me?"

"I've seen that look. Your eyes can't make focus with anything. You've seen more than I can bloody well imagine, haven't you?"

Percy opened his mouth and then closed it. He knew exactly what she meant. One of the first things Chiron said to him after he returned from Greece was that he looked fractured - like a piece of him was missing.

He still had nightmares about Tartarus. He felt that place eating at his being everyday, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

But even more recently... he'd felt this strange, cold section of his gut grow bigger and bigger. Like something that should be there simply wasn't. A lost puzzle piece, maybe.

He felt a cold, unforgiving shiver. He knew what that meant... _No... not here. _He WAS NOT going to have an attack here.

Fight it... fight it like hell...

Gone.

He'd slain the panic attack like it was a monster. He fought it. The only thing he was good at was fighting.

All he managed was a shaky "Yeah" in response to Sparrow's question.

He looked over at his traveling buddy, seeing the fire reflect on her face. He needed to redirect the conversation - push it away from him. "So what's your story?" He asked weakly.

Sparrow gave him a strange look. "What?"

"I don't know the first thing about you, and we're kinda in some sort of partnership for awhile. So, go ahead."

Her face went cold. "I stick to a name-only basis for a reason, Rabbit."

"That's, uhh... that's fair."

More silence, this time for a solid five or six minutes. "You already know enough about me. I was the fourth daughter of Count Hassildor in Skingrad. My name was Cathrien Hassildor. Now I'm neither of those things. I'm a thief. My name is Sparrow."

Percy's brain immediately shot to token emo characters on TV who wore all black and said that society just didn't understand them. That wasn't really fair to Sparrow, of course, but it was the very first thing in his mind.

"I don't know what to say." He replied honestly.

"You don't have to say anything. Now, let's just eat."

After another while, the rabbit was indeed cooked. Percy'd never tried rabbit before, and thusly was happy to find that it tasted enough like chicken to choke down without issue. Sparrow still finished first and bounced to her feet. "I'll take first watch. Get some sleep."

Percy normally probably would've insisted otherwise if he wasn't drop-dead tired. He laid on his back and tried to see through the trees to the stars.

He felt a punch in the gut as his mother's singing voice filled him:

_Little boy, little boy, don't you lie to me_  
_Tell me where did you sleep last night?_  
_In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shines_  
_You'll shiver the whole night through._

One of his first memories as a little kid was of Sally Jackson singing that song to him. Confused and not really understanding what it meant, a five year-old Percy asked what the verse was about. His mom only shrugged and said that it was passed down in the family. He'd later learned that it was an adopted American folk music tune about a girl who'd lost her father. It'd also been covered by Nirvana. Still, he loved that memory.

It filled him with warmth, a warmth he'd nearly forgotten could exist.

He fell asleep at some point.

* * *

His mother's voice left him, and now he was in Tartarus.

He could taste the toxic air, he could feel his skin blistering. This entire place was poisonous, evil, and dead. And it messed with him just as much as it did over a year ago.

The first thing he sensed was that sickly sweet smell - poison. He was fighting Misery along with Annabeth. AGAIN.

Percy saw these visions in first person, but it was pure recollection. He felt all the pain he'd previously felt; all the trauma he'd gone through, but he couldn't affect a damn thing.

He was standing on a small island around the size of a basketball backboard, surrounded by steaming puddles of poison. He was trapped. No way out.

He fell to one knee in despair. Annabeth was out there somewhere... she had to get away... he couldn't call out to her. Couldn't make his mouth move. He was a spectator, no more than that.

"You will feed the eternal darkness," Misery said. "You will die in the arms of Night!"

Somewhere Annabeth was trying to divert attention away from him, shouting and throwing bits of drakon jerky at the entity of pain itself. The goddess wasn't listening. She was one hundred percent locked in on trying to murder Percy.

Suddenly, he felt it.

At the time of that event, Percy had been understandably desperate. He thought he was going to die. So he decided, why not? Maybe he could control poison.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

He broke.

Something inside of him ruptured. He reminded it feeling like a crystal ball had shattered in his stomach. That was the first time he'd ever completely lost it - and, unfortunately, it wasn't the last.

He felt that strange, cold presense it his gut settle and take shape as the poison changed tides. The liquid began to move towards Misery in tiny waves and rivulets.

"What is this?" The goddess shrieked.

"Poison," Percy responded, with a slight smirk. "That's your specialty, right?"

He rose to his feet, feeling that weird, unidentified part of him begin to warm and take pleasure in the act. He smiled crazily. The fumes from the sweet poison made Misery cough. Her eyes watered even more.

_Good. Even more water._

He imagined her nose and throat filling with her own tears, and smiled wider.

Misery gagged. "I-" The tide of venom reached her feet. The wretched thing shrieked and moved back as Percy slowly stalked forward.

Just a bit more pressure, and he could probably pop her eyes...

"Percy!" Annabeth called from... somewhere. He looked at his girlfriend, up against the cliff, looking terrified. Of _him. _"Please stop."

No. Percy didn't want to stop. He relished in this, feeling whole for the first time. That strange, cold part of being was starting to warm. He was covered in pleasure, and all sorts of other things that were buzzing around his head.

He wanted to drown her. He wanted to choke her. He wanted to see how much misery she could take.

Not... not Annabeth... he wanted to kill _Misery..._

"Please... please..."

Percy looked at the girl he loved's eyes. They were full of anguish, fear, and borderline resentment. He couldn't take it to see them like that.

He willed the poison to retreat over the cliff, and bellowed to Misery, "LEAVE!"

He hadn't noticed it then, but now it was apparent - there was something _more _to that command. Tartarus briefly vibrated, and Percy could feel raw power flowing in his words.

The goddess didn't need to be told twice. She panicked and ran away from the near-insane demigod. The pools of poison that still remained evaporated.

Annabeth slowly approached Percy, the Death Mist making her look like an emaciated corpse. But her eyes were still stormy and fierce. "Percy, please, don't..." She sobbed, which was pretty uncharacteristic of her. "Some things aren't meant to be controlled. Please."

His whole body tingled with power and arrogance. He was unstoppable. He didn't need to take any of this foolish_ joor's _bullshit.

Wait, _joor?_

Percy felt the anger subside, and he felt the broken glass inside of him dull. That sense of pleasure that had filled that part of him cooled, and suddenly he wanted _more. _He was born to dominate, and needed to.

The cold part of his gut demanded _more._

But he set his jaw and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

* * *

**19th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Late Afternoon**

"By the Eight, you're loud."

Percy shrugged. "You've said that three times today, _alone. _Sorry I don't move like a freaking shadow."

Sparrow only scoffed in response. "All the people I could've been saddled with and it's you. You're as stealthy as an Orc."

He didn't know exactly what an Orc was, but he'd played a few video games and had a rough sketch in his head. "You know, I don't usually endorse hitting women, but..."

She turned to look back at him with a glare. "Cute."

Percy rolled his eyes. They were nearing Riverwood by now - they had to be.

They had left the forest awhile back, and were now traveling on a path near a river. Based on the name "Riverwood", he could only hope this place was on that river.

A few hours back, they crossed this big huge border wall into "Whiterun", apparently this independent kingdom-but-not-an-actual-kingdom _thing. _Thankfully, getting in wasn't too hard. Now wandering slowly towards Riverwood was the priority.

Finally, after coming around the bend, was VINDICATION.

In a valley below sprawled a large town - much bigger than Helgen. And more heavily defended. Orange-uniformed guards bustled around, stalking the wooden defensive palisades. Inside the town, it seemed to be mostly mills for wood cutting and markets.

"Finally." Sparrow breathed, as she took off for the settlement. "Well, as _marvelous_ as it was working with you, I'll now take my leave."

And the thief dashed for the small town, going for the side wall. Probably to sneak in and scope out targets for theft. Well, Percy was on his own now. He took a deep breath and headed down to Riverwood. Time to figure out what to do from here.

He approached the township slowly. He was going to... he was going to tell the man in charge that a dragon had destroyed Helgen. Yep. Even if he had no direction of his own, he could help out some locals.

That seemed noble enough to him.

**If any of you are wondering where that whole panic attack thing came from back at the campfire, that's something I'm fond of doing with post-Tartarus Percy and Annabeth. They're both sixteen when they go through that; they HAVE to be scarred forever, literally. That's not even counting the two wars they fought in.**

**So in every post-Giant story I write, Percy will have a healthy dose of post-traumatic stress disorder. I think that's only natural, for all the horrors he's gone through. Combine that with the soul of a Dragon inside him, and I think you have a pretty poorly balanced human mind.**

** Well, that's a downer.**

**Also, I just read The Staff of Serapis \- which is the short-story sequel to ****The Son of**** Sobek.**** It's much better than the first one, but my primary interest in buying it was the sneak peak of The Blood of Olympus inside. It's... definitely _something. _We're going back to one of my favorite places in Greek mythology - Ithica - so I'm excited. Piper's becoming somewhat likable. More mildly unfortunate things happen to Jason.**

**I FEED off of Jason's misfortunes. I don't even dislike him, I just think it's adorable when kind of bad stuff happens. I'd be upset if he suddenly died, but I find it hilarious when _mildly bad _****things happen to him. As long as it's somewhat debilitating and nonlethal, I swear to god it will happen to Jason. I can't take him seriously as a character, since all the other new guys have grown a lot _but him._**

**Also...**

**NICO IS A CONFIRMED POV CHARACTER. RICK RIORDAN SAID SO. ****I cannot wait to see how awkward his parts are.**

**Face hugz,**

**Professor Marmalade, AKA the Daedric Prince of Crossovers**


	7. The Silent Killer

"State your business in Riverwood!"

Percy had expected a less hostile welcome.

As he approached the town, several armed guards dashed up to him with drawn swords, yelling for him to stop. The demigod did so, keeping his hand on Riptide's sheathed hilt. "Well? Spit it out, then," snarled one of the guards in his Scandinavian accent.

Percy took a deep breath and tried to plan out what he was going to do. Annabeth was normally the one who did all of the talking... "I'm a refugee from Helgen. A dragon burned it down," he said evenly, looking at the soldier who seemed to be in the lead.

"A dragon?"

"Yes."

The guard pressed his lips into a thin line and looked to one of his colleagues. "You believe him?"

"We've heard humors from scouts... smoke in the distance, a dark shadow in the sky..."

The lead guard looked back to Percy. "How did you get into Whiterun? Helgen is in Imperial territory."

"We crossed the border," the son of Poseidon responded, holding his gaze. He wasn't lying. "Guardsmen searched us for anything illegal and then let us through."

"We?"

_Ah, crap. _"I had a traveling partner. She, uh, headed west a mile or so back."

After a few seconds of concerned silence, the soldier on the left spoke. "And what is it you want with Riverwood? Don't have a lot of room for visitors."

"Look, I, uh..." Percy's brain whirred. He was at a complete loss as to what he should do next, this was true. His sense of honor told him that if Alduin was somewhere around here... he could attack the town. "I need to see whoever is in charge. I can tell him everything I saw."

"Riverwood's governed by Hrongar, the brother of Jarl Balgruuf," the head guard said cautiously, as if he wasn't sure if such a "secret" could be given to a stranger. "The man visits Whiterun every week... could give a report to the Jarl... I'll take you to Hrongar. Follow me."

Percy followed the guard at a slow place into Riverwood, looking around. The place was significantly bigger than Helgen - still definitely not a city by any definition, but larger than the outpost that was now in ruins back south. The buildings were mostly wooden, all low to the ground, and all had no windows. It was pretty chilly - Percy had to guess it was in the forties or so - so not a lot of people were about. To his left, workers chopped away at mills, cutting logs with mechanism power by the River White.

"Nice town you've got here," Percy muttered. He hadn't meant for it to be sarcastic or mean-spirited, but he received an eye-roll.

The two walked for a few hundred yards before arriving at a seemingly normal wooden home, except this one had two orange-clad guards near the door and flags displaying a horse adorning the area. "He needs an audience with Hrongar, let him in."

A minute or so later, Percy was standing in front of a steel-armored map with a deep scowl and a mug of unidentified beverage in his hand. "Hrongar. Governor of Riverwood, brother to the honorable Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. What can I do for you, citizen?"

The governor's house was a simple thing, with plain wooden walls and flooring. A large firepit roared to Percy's left, with smoke heading up through a hole in the roof. It didn't look safe at all to Percy - the building looked like a tinderbox about to catch flame.

Hrongar looked at him impatiently, and Percy realized he hadn't responded. "I, uh... I came from Helgen. It's burnt to the ground."

The man shifted in his chair. "I don't see why this was reason enough to seek me out."

"A dragon did it."

Hrongar's eyes widened.

"A dragon flew into the outpost just before an execution. I managed to escape with the help of a... a friend." Broadcasting that he was in line to be executed and that his partner was as well was probably not the best idea. Percy had the sense to figure that one out.

After a few seconds, Hrongar rose to his feet. "Dragons have not been seen in Skyrim for three eras. How do you expect me to believe you're telling the truth?"

The cold pit of anger in Percy's gut tingled. "You can go send your scouts or guards or soldiers or _whatever _down south to look at a whole bunch of burnt bodies and buildings if you want. I don't think a lot of others made it out. I don't have proof, but you'll have to trust me."

Hrongar shuffled his feet and pressed his lips into a line. "You're barely a man, and you don't look to be a warrior. You're telling me you escaped from a dragon?"

_Barely a warrior? CRUSH HIM!_

Fight it... Fight it... gone.

Percy maintained his cool, despite being nearly pushed to a breaking point by the cold pit. He took a deep breath before turning on Hrongar with an admittedly unsettling smirk. "I'm trying to help here. You've got a lot of people in this town, and I don't think they want to be burned or eaten. So do the right thing and believe me."

The governor stroked his beard.

"Oh, and I'm five times the warrior you'll ever be."

Percy hadn't meant for that last part to slip out - really, he hadn't. But upon seeing the man's nostrils flare, he realized he'd made a bad mistake.

"I don't believe you. But..." Hrongar readjusted his shoulder pauldrons, looking smug. "We'll have Talos decide if you're right, eh?"

_Talos. _The machine had killed Bianca back in that junkyard all those ago... NO. He could feel another panic attack approaching. He managed to push it off. The guy couldn't've been talking about the same thing. But who else had the name "Talos"?

"The lead merchant in Riverwood, Lucan Valerius, had something stolen out of his shop a week back," Hrongar explained, pacing. "I asked him about it, and he mentioned something about an old ruin. Go and see him, and do whatever he asks. Then I'll see about believing you, hmm?"

Percy internally seethed, but keep a straight face. A old ruin. Something stolen. A merchant to talk to. "I..." He had nothing to go on. Maybe speaking to the Jarl person would give him some kind of direction. "Point me to the trader, I guess."

* * *

A guard escorted Percy to a nearby building - this one was two-story, made of stone, and had a thatched roof. It seemed more extravagant than the governor's place; though, to be fair, Hrongar hadn't come across as an extravagant man.

Just before Percy pushed open the door, a thought struck him: Why wasn't he freaking out?

He was in an entirely new world, which was different in almost every way to earth. In their two days of travel together, Percy had heard Sparrow reference "magic" and "elves" in completely serious tones. He hadn't ever come _close _to figuring this place out.

And for some reason, he didn't feel like this was an alien world. Felt... cozy, almost. In a way.

He entered the building to find that he'd walked into an argument. "Well, ONE OF US has to do something!" A woman cried, waving her arms wildly,

"I said NO! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!" The respondent was a scrawny man with black hair, who merely looked cross.

"Well one of us have to do something! Let's hear it!"

"We are DONE talking about-" The man finally noticed Percy standing the doorway awkwardly. "Sorry you had to hear that."

Percy couldn't help but wonder if he'd walked in on a domestic dispute when the woman turned around. The two had pretty much the same exact features, so not husband and wife. Brother and sister. That made a bit more sense.

"No problem," Percy supplied lightly. He wasn't exactly sure what to do, but thankfully the merchant made the next move.

"You must be passing through Riverwood," he suggested. The man rushed forward with hand outstretched. "Lucan Valerius. Trader."

Percy got a better look at the man. He was a bit shorter than the other citizen seemed to be, and he didn't have the same Nordic accent. He must have been a foreigner of some description. "Percy Jackson. Hrongar sent me here to help you with something."

"What could he be...?"

His sister cleared her throat. "Lucan. The claw."

"Oh... you're right, Camilla. Of course." The trader looked sheepish as Camilla rolled her eyes. "Right. Well... we did have a bit of a... a break-in. But it was the damnedest thing. The thieves were only after one item: an ornament, gilded. In the shape of a claw."

Percy frowned. This hadn't been the work of Sparrow, had it? Probably not. Word wouldn't've reached Hrongar in mere minutes. "I'll help you get that back."

Lucan eyed his mercenary up and down. "Hmm... you certainly look capable. Tell you what: I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. And I'll give you a cut of it if you get me my claw back."

Percy saw no other option. "Done."

The two shook on it, and Percy found himself liking the man. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't treated Percy like a jerk, unlike most of the people in Skyrim. "If you'll want to catch those thieves, you'll have to go up to Bleak Falls Barrow, a ruin west of town."

"Alright."

"So this is your plan, Lucan?" Camilla asked from across the room.

The trader looked at her impatient. "Yes. Now you don't have to go, do you?"

"Oh really? Well, I think your new sellsword here needs a guide."

"Wh- no... I... Oh, by the Eight, _fine. _But only to the edge of town!"

Camilla got up from her seat. "Come on, Mister Jackson. I'll show you the way."

Percy inadvertently scowled. "Don't call me Mister Jackson. I'm not that old. Uh, if you don't mind."

Camilla was in her early twenties, if Percy had to guess, so hearing something that formal was strange. "You're right. I'm sorry, Percy. Didn't mean to offend."

"You didn't offend, I just-"

Lucan tapped his foot. "I don't suppose you could take this outside?"

"Of course, brother." The woman led the way to the door, with Percy following. She pushed open the door and the two emerged into the late afternoon light.

Camilla looked forwards, up over the town and buildings to the west. "We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow," she said. She pointed a slender finger at a small mountain nearby. "You can see it from here, though. The black constructs on that mountain there."

Percy squinted and made out what looked like archways. "So what exactly is this place?"

"An old Nordic ruin." Camilla shook her head in annoyance. "Those thieves must be mad, hiding out up there. Those old crypts are filled with traps, trolls, and who knows what else!"

"That's reassuring," Percy muttered low enough that Camilla didn't hear. She walked towards the other end of town along the stone road. "So how do you know where the thieves are hiding out?"

"It's a well-known group of bandits based out of the barrow. No one's bothered to take them out until now. You should be careful."

Percy internally snorted. He'd fought gods and Titans and giants - a couple of raiders wouldn't pose any challenge to him.

"I wonder why they only stole Lucan's golden claw," Camilla mused as she continued her brisk pace. "I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop that are worth just as much coin. Lucan found the thing about a year ago, when he opened the store. Never explained where he got it. He's a tricky one."

The man had seemed a bit underhanded; most businessmen tended to be a little crooked. If Hermes cabin ever taught Percy anything, it was that.

They left the town boundaries and approached a stone bridge across the River White. Camilla leaned against a post and looked at the demigod with worry. "The path to the left will lead up to Bleak Falls Barrow."

Percy nodded. "Thanks."

"It's nothing." The woman opened up a pouch on her hip and pulled out a lump of cloth. "A bit of advanced payment. This is good bread; Lucan ships it in from the Imperial City. In case you're gone for awhile."

Percy accepted the food and smiled. "Thank you, Camilla."

"Do be careful and hurry back. I'd hate to think that you'd die on my directions."

"You _definitely _don't have to worry about that."

Camilla nodded slowly. "Alright, then. I guess I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child..."

And with that, Percy was on his own again. He heaved a great sigh and looked up at the black stonework up on the mountain. He shivered, feeling cold start to set in. Time to go, he guessed.

* * *

By the time Percy had reached the doors of Bleak Falls Barrow, he had nearly frozen to death.

The climb had taken a few hours, and by then night had fallen. He came across a tower with a couple of raiders in it, who Percy dispatched without issue. Continuing further up, he finally saw the ruin. No one was out on guard, and frankly Percy couldn't blame them. It must've been near sub-zero out there.

He wasn't exactly dressed for alpine travel, so his fingers burned and his cheeks were numb from the frost. He quickly push open the huge door to the ruin, hoping that the inside of this place wasn't as frigid as it was outside.

And of course, he walked right into a room with a couple bandits in it.

Being too exhausted to bother with pleasantries, Percy slashed a total of seven times, and soon the men were down. He sheathed Riptide and rubbed his hands together, then started to examine the room.

It was a tall and wide entry hall, dotted with fallen rubble from the ceiling. Snow fell in through the large holes. Percy needed heat. Fast.

He spotted a fire burning at the far end of the hall and stumbled towards it with reckless abandon. Thankfully, no other bad guys showed up to try and kill him. He collapsed next to the fire and held out his hands, drinking in the warmth.

At that moment, sitting in the pale light of the camp and near the point of frostbite, Percy realized he was alone.

He moved in closer to the fire, desperate the ward off the cold. His leathers were nearly frozen stiff. He inhaled and exhaled, taking note that he was very much still alive and that he _had _made it without dying.

Cold... not an enemy he was trained to fight with a magic sword.


	8. Bleak Falls Barrow

After what could've been five seconds or five centuries, Percy rose to his feet.

He squinted at the only passage forward - a circular tunnel heading downwards. When you went further down, it got warmer, right? Even if that thought was complete bullshit it gave Percy some confidence going forward.

Near the fire, he found a wooden stick wrapped with a cloth rag on the end of it. The rag was smeared with some black stuff that Percy just couldn't remember the name of, but he knew what it all did. He stuck the wrapped end of the stick into the flames. After it caught, Percy pulled it out and had himself a torch.

He carried it with his left hand as he eyed the tunnel further in with hesitation. He wasn't sure exactly how old this place was, but the crumbled ceiling hadn't exactly done much to improve his opinion of the architects who built this place. Annabeth would probably have had a fit.

That made him sad, so he decided to stop examining the decor.

He walked slowly down the corridor further inward, as if that would help the circular tunnel stay standing. Showers of dust and small rocks fell from the low ceiling at random. Thick vines that were as hard as wood snaked along the walls and around scattered wooden supports. The place smelled like mold and mildew.

He reach the bottom of the descending tunnel and into a level hallway. A lit brazier told him that another person had been along here recently. Percy's grip on Riptide tightened. On the ground nearby, he spotted a few rough silver coins. He knelt down to examine them only to find that they were imprinted with images of different animals on them - hawk, wolf, and was that a moth? Shrugging, he pocketed them.

Branching tunnels were all around him, but they were all blocked off from debris. Only one way forward, and it was along the same hallway. He continued along, stepping over gnarled vines and further downward. How far down did this place go? How far until he found the claw?

He finally came to the end of the hallway and emerged into a large room lit low by a few braziers. A large lever was in the center of the room, and an iron gate barred access further into the ruin. His breath caught when he saw the dead body.

Upon approaching it, Percy saw how the guy had died. Twenty or so small darts were dug in the back and front of him. Percy shivered. A trap, clearly.

He glanced to his left and saw the pillars. The small things displayed images of animals - a snake, a whale, a hawk. Huh.

He turned back to the dead bandit and noticed the creepy head... _thing _that had fallen onto the floor in a crumble of stone. His mouth was open, showing the snake sign. That was...

Above the door were two more of the heads - the one of the left was a snake, the one of the far right was a whale. There was space in between for a third...

OH. Duh.

Percy went over to the pillars and experimentally turned one. It rotated without issue. He set the pillars to snake-snake-whale and pulled the lever. The gate shuttered open, while Percy mentally patted himself on the back for using his brain.

A quick trip down a spiral staircase led him into yet another hallway. He wondered dimly where he was going, so wrapped in his own worries that he didn't notice the huge spider webs. And then he heard a man screaming.

"Is that you, Harknir? Bjorn? Sjoling?" The man cried, probably because he heard Percy's footsteps. The voice seemed to come from Percy's left. He hurried along to see a doorway blocked by spider webs. He swore, _really _hoping this didn't mean what he thought it meant.

He hacked the thick web with Riptide and stepped into the next room - one that was much taller that the hallway. At the far end seemed to be a man - _did he have grey skin? - _who was caught in a spider's web.

"Gods, are you alright?" Percy asked cautiously.

"Watch out! It's still-"

A frostbit spider dropped out of a hole in the ceiling - one directly above Percy.

He nearly froze, picturing what one of these things had done to Hadvar. He barely managed to roll out of the way in time.

Not wanting to give the spider time to react, he sliced three times at the monster's abdomen before it turned to face him. It crumpled into a heap, leaving a panting Percy and a throbbing heart.

"You did it! You killed it. Now cut me down before the others show up!" cried the man, as he struggled against his webby trap.

Percy looked at him. "Shove off and let me catch my breath."

After a few seconds, the demigod approached the netted man slowly. His skin was, in fact, an ashy grey. He had pointed ears, greasy black hair, and eyebrow ridges that nearly looked like horns. Percy must've mistaken the guy for an alien.

"What, you've never seen a Dunmer before?" The person asked, like he was reading Percy's mind. "You humans are all the same. You know what? I think _you _look strange, mate."

Percy glared at him coldly. He really didn't feel like being cordial. "You're pretty inconsiderate, considering I'm about to save your sorry butt."

"I've been tied up like a noble's mistress for a day now, sorry if I'm not the best at talking. Well, go on. Cut me down."

"Not yet."

The grey man cried out in anger. "What is it, then?"

"What do you know about the golden claw?"

"Yes! The claw! I know how it all works! The claw, the markings, the hall of stories... I know how they all fit together! Cut me down and I'll show you. You won't believe the power the Nords have hidden in here."

Percy hesitated. The guy was probably lying, but he didn't really have a choice. He sliced Riptide twice through the web, and the Dunmer fell to the ground. He took a step forward. "Where's the claw?"

"You fool, why should I share the treasure with anyone?" He laughed as he ran down a tunnel behind the web.

Percy kind of expected that. He ran after him, panting. He went through a half-circular room and then down a flight of stairs, where Percy saw surprise number two.

Three zombie-looking beings carrying swords looked at the grey-skinned man and growled. "Draugr!" The lead one swung his greatsword and cut off his head in one swing. Percy froze, praying he hadn't been noticed.

The zombies - or, "Draugr", as the grey man had so kindly identified them as - growled at Percy and charged at him.

Well, crap.

Percy parried the first strike and chanced a stab at the thing's gut. Riptide sunk into the creature's dead flesh, but the draugr was undeterred. Percy barely managed to wrench Riptide out and roll away before an axe impaled him.

He looked at the three monsters with a mixture of anger and fear. "Let's see what kills you, then."

Percy waited for one of the corpses to amble towards him before he thrust the torch at the draugr's chest. The creature roared in fear and fell to the ground.

Fire, then. That or a decapitation, he'd wager. Or maybe some holy water. Zombie movies had taught him well.

He finished off the other two, leaving a trio of long-dead burnt bodies on the cold stone floor. Percy cautiously back to the dunmer's dead body, which was in an expanding pool of blood. On the ground near his corpse, Percy spotted the glint of gold.

He cautiously picked up a bloody ornament, about the size of Percy's palm. He wiped the crimson off on the deadman's armor and examined the trophy. It was a detailed carving, with intricate designs on the "palm", showing more of the animal symbols.

Great. Now just to-

Stone above him groaned, and Percy's blood froze. He dashed forward into the ruin, through another tunnel. He could hear the ceiling begin to crumble behind him - at first, small stones and rocks. But after he dashed through a gaggle of hallways aimlessly further into the ruin, he really he'd screwed himself over.

After he figured he could take a minute to catch his breath, he turned to see that he was in a natural cave - he'd just left the man-made section. He squinted around the dimly-lit cave, looking for where exactly he'd left the ruin. His eyes eventually settle on a doorway, sealed with fallen granite.

Great. Just great.

Percy tried to panic too much as he gripped the golden claw. He was sealed in... what if there wasn't another way out? He imagined dying of thirst would be painful.

No, he couldn't think about that. He had to continue on and hope that there was an alternate way out of the this place.

He moved quickly across a narrow land-bridge over a deep chasm and through another cave lit only by Percy's torch and glowing green mushrooms. Eventually, Percy found another doorway into the man-made section of the ruins - obviously to a different point further-in, as the tunnel wasn't collapsed. He silently prayed again and forged onward.

Percy came across another room with a pair of draugr in it. They were easily disposed of, the flame eating away at their mortal bodies. In small groups, those things would be easy to handle. He didn't want to think about a larger group.

He moved quickly into the next hallway, which was strangely lit by braziers. Had it been the work of the draugr? Who knew. But what caught his eye was the carvings on the sides of the corridor. They showed what seemed to be gods, surrounded by animals with kneeling subjects around them. Kind of like the paintings in the old Egyptian pyramids.

He finally came to large door, with a circular design. In the very center was a group of three holes, and around the center were three half-concealed rings. Wait... Percy put the claw up to the holes. It fit perfectly.

A key.

No wonder the bandits had only stolen this single thing. Not only was it likely valuable, but it was the only way forward into the ruin. But why had they wanted to go further? What was behind this strange locked door?

He moved to turn the claw, but then froze. This was too easy. There had to be more to this, and he wondered if it had to do with those rings. He looked at them again. they had those animal symbols on them.

He glanced down at the claw again. The pattern on the palm was: bear, moth, owl. He input the code with the rings and turned the claw.

He entered one of the most hauntingly beautiful rooms he'd ever seen.

Moonlight streamed in through a hole in the ceiling, illuminating the natural cavern. Around the cave were scattered attempts at stairs or bridges over a small creek that ran through the place. On the walls, waterfalls flowed down, filling the creek with crystal-clear water that was probably freezing cold. And of course, there was the center.

He walked up to the raised pedestal, where there was a solitary coffin, an ornate chest, and a strange curved wall of stone loomed. He looked at it and swore that he saw alien letters he'd never seen before... but that wasn't right. He could read it, perfectly fine.

_Here lies the guardian_  
_Keeper of dragonstone_  
_And a force of unending_  
_Rage and darkness._

Force...

He felt himself drawn to the wall, like a hook had attached to his belly button, pulling him forward. As he got close, the world "force" began to glow.

"Whoa..."

A tendril of blue light reached out and touched him, and Percy screamed.

He felt his brain expanding... taking in more knowledge than he was accustomed to. It felt as though he'd had the worst case of brainfreeze in history... but then his vision returned.

He felt more vigorous than ever.

_Fus._

Force.

That was definitely a good thing, since a draugr emerged from the previously closed coffin. It charged at him, battleaxe poised to strike. But Percy parried easily and decapitated the creature with a single stroke.

He felt the wave of energy leave him as he glared down at the dead thing's body. He was... his name was Percy Jackson. Yeah.

He looked at the chest curiously, and cracked it open. His eyes went wide as he saw the collection of jewels and silver. He immediately dropped to a knee and began to shovel the stuff into his knapsack, not caring much about stealing from the dead, considering that the dead had tried to kill him. One last thing in the chest caught his eye, however. A stone tablet, not much bigger than his hand. It was engraved with markings he didn't understand. Shrugging, he put the thing in his bag.

He finally rose to his feet, now feeling the fatigue and the need to rest hit him like a sack of bricks. He saw the set of the stairs by the back that hopefully led out; he padded up them slowly to find out... yes, there was a way back outside.

But it was still pitch dark outside. And Percy's eyelids felt heavy.

* * *

**20th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Just before Noon**

"You're back!" Camilla cried, rushing to Percy.

The demigod shrugged, and tossed the claw on the counter. "Took a nap. I was pretty tired."

Lucan looked in surprise down at his returned ornament and smiled. "You found it! Thank you. You've done a great thing for me and my sister." The man handed Percy a small pouch of coins. "Thank you for your service."

"No problem." Percy felt the weight of the treasure in his backpack, unsure of what to do with it yet. He decided to hold on to it for the time being. "I'll be going now to see Hrongar. Till next time, Lucan."

Percy left the small trading shop and made way for the governor's home. The sooner this was done, the better.

He realized how hungry he was, but he'd already eaten the bread Camilla had given him. He'd just have to wait. He pushed open the door to Hrongar's home to see the man sitting on his chair and sipping at a cup of something.

"I've done the job for Lucan. Now let's go see your brother," Percy said gruffly, not really feeling up for pleasantries.

Hrongar's eyes widened. "You made it up to that haunted barrow and lived? By the Divines... you must be telling the truth. We'll set off for Whiterun as soon as possible. You can ride a horse, right?"

* * *

**Hey. Just a quick note here.**

**Due to a lack of any real response from A Sunken Debt, I'll be putting it on hiatus for the time being. I'll pick it back up when I feel like the time is right. Thankfully, in its place, I might actually have something new - a PJO murder-mystery _thing _that I've still not fully got figured out. I got the inspiration from Fables, a graphic novel series that I quite enjoy. Who knows when that will be uploaded?**

**Anyways, have a delightful day. AND REVIEW.**


	9. Dragon Rising

**22nd of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Just before dark**

It was freaking cold.

Percy's horse continued forward along the stone path, moving slowly. Hrongar and five of his guards rode in front of him. After over two days of travel, they'd nearly arrived in Whiterun.

Earlier that day they'd entered the Tundra - the rolling wasteland that Hrongar said covered hundreds of miles in central Skyrim. Since it was all open-air, the wind really got to blow without being impeded. There hadn't been a cloud in the sky all day and it probably hadn't gone over fifty degrees.

The son of Poseidon himself wasn't feeling very good. He was still wearing the leather gear he'd been wearing for... nearly a week now. No places to bathe. He probably smelled as bad - or worse - as the other members of his traveling band.

Whiterun loomed up ahead. A palace dominated the skyline, and the city itself seemed to grow out around it. "How many people live there?" Percy asked.

Hrongar slowed his horse's pace to match Percy's. One maddening thing was that Percy couldn't talk to horses in Skyrim. It was frustrating to say the least.

"I'm not sure," Hrongar said, looking up at the city and stroking his beard. "At least seventy thousand. Makes Riverwood look like a backwater, eh?"

"Wouldn't say no."

New York made Whiterun look like a backwater too, but he decided to not say that.

Their convoy of horses clopped along the road towards the main gate. This was definitely a busier road - trader and citizens rushed along it, talking or carrying wares. It was all outside city walls. Hopefully Alduin didn't strike when it was so occupied. "We're nearly there now. It might take awhile before I can convince my brother you're worth talking to."

"Great."

"Just wait in the marketplace tavern, the Bannered Mare. I'll try to be as quick as I can."

They approached the main gates, where two orange-clad guards waved them through after seeing Hrongar. They headed in through the gate and onto the streets of Whiterun. Hrongar hopped off of his horse and tied it to a nearby post, and Percy did the same.

The streets were wide and made of cobblestone. The houses were a bit different than Riverwood - most seemed to be two-story affairs with wide awnings and glass windows. The roofs were tiled, not thatched.

Hrongar pointed down the main road. "Keep heading straight until you reach the marketplace. The Bannered Mare is the largest building. I'll see you there when we're ready."

Percy sighed. He was getting more and more hungry, and he was weary after the day of traveling. Sitting down and ordering some food would probably be a good thing to do.

He wondered as he walked just how long he'd be in this world. He'd been here for nearly a week already, and didn't fancy staying for much longer. Hopefully this Jarl character would help him on his way.

He finally entered the market, which was just starting to clear out for the night. People were moving en masse for either the tavern or the residential area. Percy started to walk towards the Bannered Mare when he saw something shift the corner of his eye.

He looked down the alley to his right and saw a barrel wobble. He took a cautious step towards it. "Um, hello?"

No answer, but Percy swore he heard the stifling of a sob.

"I, uh... I'm sorry if I scared you." Percy wish he knew who "you" was.

Again, no answer.

He took another step forward and the barrel was nudged over. Standing behind it was a little girl.

Percy was really bad at guessing age, but she was probably nine or ten or something like that. She wore a sackcloth - or was it hessian? - shirt and skirt, which were ripped and torn. She had long black hair and remarkably piercing blue eyes. As soon as she saw Percy, she cowered.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said cautiously. "What's your name?"

She only stared at him.

"Where are your parents? Are you okay?"

He wanted to bite back the question about parents immediately. When a girl was hiding out in alleyways and looking as ragged as she did, she was most likely an orphan. The girl once again only stared at him.

Percy dropped to a knee so he was on the same level as her. "Do you need any help? I can get you something to eat if you want."

She didn't respond.

"Just... just stay here. I'll be right back."

Percy quickly entered the Bannered Mare and ordered two stews. What exactly was in them was irrelevant - it was warm food, something that both Percy and the girl would appreciate. He was so used to hearing stories about growing up on the streets from other demigods... he'd feel like a jerk if he didn't try to help out.

He rushed the two bowls of hot stew back outside to the alley, where the girl was sat up against the wall. Percy handed her the bowl and then sat down crisscross applesauce across from her. She looked at the bowl blankly.

"I'm not sure what's in it. Venison, probably," Percy said, spooning a mouthful of the stuff in. It might've been d-grade slop, but it tasted like Ambrosia to Percy, who'd been living on bread and rabbit for awhile.

The girl only continued to stare at it. "My friend," she finally said in a weak voice.

"What?"

She looked up at him. "A rich man gave my friend Wald food last month. It was poisoned. Wald died."

Percy's blood chilled at the though of such an act. What kind of twisted man poisoned an kid? What could he stand to gain from it? "That's... that's horrible. You don't have to worry about it. Trust me."

She slowly began to eat out of the wooden bowl. After a few spoonfuls, she apparently deemed it fine and started to eat rapidly. When she finished, she looked up at Percy with confusion. "Why did you help me?"

Percy shrugged. "I know a couple of... well, I couldn't just let you sit there. I've got the money. Why wouldn't I give you something to eat?"

She nodded, smiling just a little bit at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm not a 'sir'. My name's Percy."

The girl - once again - only nodded.

Percy scooped up the two empty bowls and started to leave the alleyway before he heard, "Wait!"

The son of Poseidon turned to see the girl standing up, looking nervous. "I... I live here. In this alley."

Percy nodded.

"Can you... come to see me again?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

He was about to turn the corner back towards the pub when the girl squeaked out, "Alessia."

"What?"

"My name is Alessia."

The demigod smiled. "That's a nice name, kid."

And then he headed out of the alley, despite really wanting not to leave.

* * *

"You may approach Jarl Balgruuf, eighth of his -"

"That's enough of that," the king said, cutting off his steward. "If the matter is as important as my brother says, we don't have time for this."

Balgruuf rose from his ornate throne. The man was well over six feet tall and was built like a fighter. He had long blonde hair, green eyes that looked alert, and a small silver crown with the insignia of a horse on his brow. Percy liked him instantly.

"What's this you urgently needed to say?"

Percy wasn't sure how to put it, so he decided to be blunt.. "A dragon burned Helgen to the ground nearly a week ago. I was there. I saw it all happen."

Balgruuf shifted uneasily. "I'd heard rumors of Helgen burning to the ground... but a dragon? Most don't believe they ever existed."

The demigod pointed to the dragon skull that hung in the throne room. "Well, clearly _you _do. Your people are in danger, sir. That dragon flew north, and if it decides to attack Riverwood or Whiterun..."

Balgruuf studied Percy with a careful eye. "My brother said you were trustworthy... I believe you." He turned to look at a Dunmer woman in armor. "Irileth, send a regiment to Riverwood at once. Send notice to the Graafs of Amberguard, Blackmoor, Helljarchen, and Rorikstead. Oh, and reinforce . We must be ready."

"Of course, my Jarl."

Balgruuf looked back to the demigod. "Who are you, then?"

Percy bowed slightly, since he wasn't sure what exactly to do. "Percy Jackson. I'm eighteen."

"You're a warrior, then?"

"Yes."

"Then I could use some help while we prepare. Are you familiar with a ruin near Riverwood called Bleak Falls Barrow?"

Percy laughed hollowly. "I was there a few days ago. The place mostly collapsed."

"By the Nine... follow me, and quickly. We have to go see the Court Wizard, Farangar."

Court Wizard, huh? Percy had picked up that magic existed in some form awhile back, but he still hadn't seen it. He pictured a bent-nosed witch with grey skin, but wasn't exactly surprised to see a skinny guy in a full-length robe and hood. Balgruuf had lead Percy to a strange-smelling laboratory, with herbs and mushrooms all categorized on shelves. Smelled like thyme and other stuff Percy's mother could name.

"Farangar? I think I found someone who can help on your... dragon project," Balgruuf said delicately, like he was defusing a bomb.

The wizard's eyes lit up as he looked at Percy. "Good. He... he looks capable. I've been searching for _years _and finally found the spot."

"Years?" Percy asked cautiously. "I thought the dragon just showed up last week."

"It's been a hobby of mine. I've been fascinating with the dragons since I was a boy. Regardless, let's get to your job. There's an ancient stone tablet interred in Bleak Falls Barrow that I need finding."

Balgruuf cleared his throat. "Percy says he was just at the old ruin."

"It mostly collapsed..." The demigod began to say before he remembered something. "Wait!" He dove into his rucksack, sifting through the silver and gems within (he still didn't know what to do with them) until he pulled out the strange rock he'd found. "This was in the main burial chamber. Maybe it's the tablet you're looking for?"

Farangar took the stone in his hands and examined it. "Yes... yes, this is the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! With the rumors of dragons, my good man, this could save many lives. I thank you a million."

"What is it, exactly?"

"A map of dragon burial sites!" He said, like Percy should have started jumping up and down with excitement.

"I don't understand, what does that-"

The Dunmer woman with red hair that Percy had seen earlier burst in the room. "Jarl Balgruuf! Come quickly. We have news from the Western Watchtower."

The petty king looked at his... well, what exactly was she? An adviser of some kind, it seemed. "What is it, Irileth?"

"It's private business... though I'd advice the visitor come as well."

"And why's that?" Balgruuf asked, looking at Irileth with apprehension.

She looked at the court wizard briefly before replying. "I will explain as we go. Farangar, continue your... experiments."

Irileth led the Jarl and their confused visitor towards a nearby staircase. "What's going on, Irileth?" Balgruuf asked.

"A man of the watch ran from the Western Watchtower on foot, claiming he saw a dragon."

Percy's blood chilled. "How close to the city is this watchtower?"

"We'll speak of it once we arrive at the war room."

Percy felt sweat build up in his palms. Considering his week-old clothes and week-old stench, he probably appeared to everyone as a disheveled crazy man. But he followed the petty king and his bodyguard up to the war room, in which there were a couple of what Percy guessed were nobles, as well as a few men who actually looked like warriors.

An orange-clad guard with the horse crest stood in the center of the room. As the Jarl entered, any idle chat in the room died. "So, Irileth tells me you came from the Western Watchtower."

"Yes, my Jarl."

"Tell him what you told me. About the dragon," Irileth sternly said to the guard.

"Uh... that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen."

The south... that's the way Alduin would have came. Percy felt as though chunks of ice were being forced through his veins. He didn't _feel _ready for a battle with a dragon god.

"What did it do?" Percy interjected, taking a step forward. He wasn't sure if it was his place to speak over a king, but no one objected. He could, however, feel the eyes of everything as they saw the greasy poor dude with a rat's nest for hair. He wondered what they thought. _What is he doing here? I've shot bears uglier than him. _"Did it attack the watchtower?"

"No. It was just circling overhead as I left. The other men sent me as courier. Who knows what the dragon is doing now?"

Percy's mind began to turn faster than he was used to. "A dragon destroyed a town of over a thousand last week, _and _it was a military outpost. Unless you meet it outside the gates of the city, there's a chance of many innocents dying."

His mind shot back to the girl, Alessia, in the alley. She was an innocent as they came. If the dragon attacked the city and she got hurt... he'd never forgive himself. Nor for the other thousands living in the city.

"So you'd suggest we march our men out onto the undefended plains against a dragon?" An older man asked. He was wearing orange armor as well; a commander, maybe? "Who even are you, anyway?"

"His name is Percy Jackson, and he survived the attack on Helgen. And you'll let him continue if you know what's good for you, Caius." The whip-like nature of the response from Balgruuf was rather satisfying.

The demigod was the center of the room's attention, and he didn't like it. Back in Camp Half-Blood, he was an already-established commodity. All the new kids who came in knew who he was immediately. He'd proven himself twiceover. But here? He was the smelly commoner, and barely a grown man at that.

"We need to send out a small force now, and quickly. And then prepare the rest of the city for the attack."

No one said a word for a few seconds.

"I'll round up fifteen guards and have them meet me by the gates," Irileth said. "Caius, organize the wallguard and load the ballistae. Percy, you're with me."

* * *

The Western Watchtower was thirty minutes on horseback from Whiterun.

Percy's steed was a young filly, probably not older than three. Percy couldn't communicate with her, but he could sense her emotions. The poor foal was skittish the whole ride. And as they approached the watchtower, Percy became skittish as well.

The group of warriors crested over a small hill and the watchtower stood in rubble below them, less than a football pitch away. The tower itself was ruined - random bits and bobs of the structure were strewn in the empty plains at random. These bits of stone were on fire, in a circular radius of around fifty metres.

Visibility wasn't the best, because the sun had just set. But it was plain to see that a dragon had just ransacked the place.

Irileth's breath caught for just a half a second. "Alright men, I know it looks bad... but we have to figure out what exactly happened. And if that dragon is still skulking about somewhere. Let's tie up the horses out here on that rock."

Percy did so, and slowly approached the now-ruined Western Watchtower, heart pounding. They couldn't've been too late - they would've seen the dragon on its way to Whiterun. Irileth gave another order. "Spread out and search the rubble for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with."

The fifteen guards moved quickly to the wreckage, but no one went for the remains of the tower structure. Percy slid off his horse and approached the tower at molasses speed, afraid of what he might find.

He clambered up the stairs to find a Whiterun soldier cowering. "No, no! Leave the watchtower! The beast grabbed Hroki and Tor when they tried to make a run for it!"

"Where's the dragon?" Percy demanded.

"You need to leave. Those things... they cannot be stopped. We can only wait for them to destroy us!"

The demigod felt the cold part of gut take flame. This idiot _joor _was cowering in a corner. He dashed up to the guardsmen, grabbed him by the collar of his cloak, and pushed him up against the wall. "WHERE. IS. THE. DRAGON?!"

A massive roar outside answered before the cowardly soldier could.

Percy dashed out of the room, Riptide in hand. The looming shape circled the tower, and in the dim light Percy could tell that it wasn't Alduin. The beast wasn't covered in spikes; rather, his scales were smooth and more typically draconic.

**_"YOL TOOR SHUL!"_**

This was when Percy decided to stop his little study session short.

A gout of fire of fire erupted from the dragon's maw, briefly illuminating the dark countryside. Percy had the sense to dive and roll for cover behind a nearby boulder. He wasn't sure how the other soldiers fared, but he heard a few screams of pain. Well, shit.

The dragon circled overheard, roaring and flying in circles, with the arrows going up at not coming close. The thing was just boasting now, as if saying _HA, I can fly and you can't, losers._

That really irked Percy. On the ground and one on one, the dragon would be mincemeat eventually. It would take awhile, but Percy was fairly confident.

Then the dragon spoke, and Percy understood it.

**_"Behold mortals, for I am Mirmulnir! The strongest of the Dragons of the Wooded Land, soldier of Alduin, the World-Eater and our rightful King! Bow down in servitude, or die by dragonfire!"_**

_Bow down in servitude._

Nah.

While the rest of the soldiers whispered to each other, debating what language the dragon had spoken in, Percy walked into the opening in a trance. He wasn't in control of his limbs... but he _was. _"MIRMULNIR! FACE ME!"

The other soldiers and Irileth stared at him. "How do you know its name?!"

"What do you mean, he just said-"

**_"YOL TOOR SHUL!"_**

A breath of fire erupted from the sky and struck the group of soldiers all at once. The ten or so remaining men were in square formation, along with Irileth. The area of affect was devastating - all the guards caught fire. Percy had to look away.

As their screams died out, a rock suddenly seemed to occupy Percy's stomach; he was alone. He had no missile attacks, since he couldn't arch and that "magic" thing was a mystery to him. Bloody fantastic.

Percy gripped Riptide tighter as the dragon continued to circle. **_"You know the language of the Dov. Alduin has told me this is a lost art among the mortals."_**

"What are you talking talking about?!"

Percy was speaking as he usually did. He didn't feel any different than usual... other than a strange pins-and-needles sensation in the cold part of his gut. But that could be chalked up to nervousness or... something. "WHATEVER! Just... just LAND! Fight me on equal ground!"

The dragon continued to circle and was silent for a few seconds. **_"You know our language, but cannot speak it yourself. Hmm..."_**

"Enough! C'mon, land! Or are you afraid, MIRMULNIR?"

That struck a chord.

**_"You foolish mortal! You'll perish this day, for insulting one of the dragonkin! FUS RO DAH!"_**

A wave of blue energy cascaded from the dragon's maw, which threw Percy backwards about fifty meters before he crashed into the tower.

The impact so hard and so sudden that Percy could definitely feel that _something _in his midsection was broken or ruptured. His limbs seemed to be shipshape and Bristol fashion, luckily, so he quickly rose to his feet and snapped up Riptide, trying to ignore the pain.

The dragon swooped down and trying to bite Percy, but thankfully he had the sense to roll. As he did so, he slashed his sword vaguely upwards. The spout of red blood that followed made it clear that he'd done _some _damage. Were dragon scales weak? Or maybe he'd miraculously cut underneath Mirmulnir's armor? Who knew.

The dragon roared in progress and did a one-eighty so he was facing Percy. **_"Insolent little human! YOL TOOR SHUL!"_**

Percy dove left, but was inevitable engulfed in the flame. Completely. He had the nifty little anti-fire ability that came along with his general Poseidon-ness, but didn't know exactly _how _fireproof he was. So he was panicking. He concentrated his watersense... one of the White's tributaries was a few hundred meters to his right. He needed that water.

He took off and dashed, feeling the fire start to tingle. The dragon roared in protest. **_"You cannot escape, mortal!"_**

After an agonizing minute, Percy dove into the shallow tributary, feeling the fire extinguish. The water reinvigorated him, and he stood up in the tributary. The clear water ran over a bed of granite and mica, went up to about his knees. The current was decently strong.

The dragon was in front of Percy, hovering as if mocking him. **_"An impressive display; though it only delays inevitability. FO KRAH DIIN!"_**

A wave of frost erupted from the dragon's mouth... but it wasn't aimed at Percy, rather at the river to Percy's right. Mirmulnir was trying to freeze the river and trap Percy, leaving him helpless as Mirmulnir prepared the perfect seasoning to cook then eat the demigod with. Made sense. Might've even been successful had Percy not been the son of a water god. Freshwater wasn't his forte but he could make it work.

He shut his eyes and concentrated. He felt the cold temperature attempt to freeze the water; he could feel the crystals begin to form. He fought it, breaking the bonds and superheating the water. Push it. Push it harder.

Molecules bounced off of each other faster and faster. The temperature was rising. The dragon seemed utterly shocked as he hovered in front of the demigod. Time to exploit his moment of weakness.

He quickly started to form weapons out of the water - which was getting hotter and hotter. He'd never attempted to do this, but how hard could it be? Within five seconds, Percy had five ballistae on either side of him, all loaded with spears of boiling water and trained on the dragon. "Think fast, buddy!"

The mechanisms fired, and the spears pierced the dragon all over, with three striking in his left wing. He cried out in pain and felt to the ground, nearly defeated.

Percy climbed out of the tributary with Riptide in hand. He had a crazy look in his eye as he approached the pathetic and broken creature. It tried to crawl away vainly.

The son of Poseidon grabbed one of his scales and tore it off. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.

**_"Dovahkiin… no…"_**

Mirmulnir's body went limp. Percy fell to his knees in relief.

* * *

**A/N TIME.**

**I. FEEL. AWFUL.**

**I'm so sorry **I'm so sorry ****I'm so sorry ****I'm so sorry ****I'm so sorry.****

**I wrote the first 2k words of this chapter within two days of uploading the last one. But then summer happened, and I've been, like, _going to parties _and stuff. I've not had a lot of time for writing. That combined with my hatred of writing fight scenes and some heavy writer's block has delayed this much too far.**

**TAKE ME BACK. PLEASE. I feel like "Back for Good" by Take That should be playing emotionally in the background.**

**HOWEVER. Thank you for not spamming me with "WTF Y U NO UPLOAD" PMs and reviews. Much appreciated. Uploads should be more regular from now on.**

**Love and eternal hugz in the facial region,**

**Professor Marmalade AKA the Daedric Prince of Crossovers**


	10. Thane of Whiterun

Percy's victory was short-lived.

Mere seconds after Percy came to his feet, Mirmulnir's body became engulfed in a bright orange fire-like blaze. Percy stepped back in surprise. "What the hell..."

As he watched the body... burn up?... whatever it was doing, as he watched it, he felt the alien part of his gut stir. This probably wasn't good.

One of the orange tendrils of light touched him and his knees turned to jelly.

Later on, he tried to explain to his friends what it had been like; what absorbing that first soul felt like. He settled on comparing it mentally to bathing in the River Styx and refusing any information to his allies. But it was really indescribable. He could feel his mind, his very soul, slowly expanding, slowly drinking in more information than it had any business drinking in. It hurt so damn much. He wanted it to stop... STOP... it wouldn't stop...

And then it was over.

Percy was flat on his face, heart hammering, head hammering even harder, and feeling completely exhausted. He struggled to his knees, trying to catch his breath and determine what had happened. He then proceeded to throw up all that nice stew he'd eaten an hour ago.

The demigod forced himself to his feet, seeing stars as he regained his composure. What had _happened?_

He looked up at Mirmulnir's corpse had dissapeared, leaving behind his skeleton and lot of tough black scales that littered the ground nearby. It was like the beast's flesh had melted away, leaving only bones. Well, and the scales. Why those didn't disappear was anyone's guess.

He prodded the bones warily, hoping that skeletal dragons weren't a thing. They didn't seem to be.

Percy splashed some of the now cool water from the tributary on his face, trying to snap himself out of this weird mental haze. He had to somehow report back to Balgruuf and tell him that a dragon was dead. It then struck him that evidence would be nice; he snatched up a scale and a rib bone and put them in his sack. So now to-

**"DOHVAHKIIN!"**

The call rippled across the landscape, shaking the ground and piercing his ears. _Dovahkiin... _the last thing Mirmulnir had cried out before he died. Percy wondered passively what the word meant in dragon-ese, or who had shouted it. Alduin? He shuttered at the idea of the dragon god watching him.

He threw up once more and then gathered himself, straightening his hair and making sure his clothes were presentable. He then located his horse and was on his way back to Whiterun.

* * *

When he arrived back in Whiterun, it was pouring rain. The storm had come on remarkably fast, as the entire day thus far had been cloudless. Now, after dark, cold rain pounding the demigod's shoulders and head. As the gate guards recognized Percy, they rushed up to him.

"You're that boy the Jarl sent with the soldiers and Irileth. What happened at the watchtower?"

Percy looked up at him, irked at the 'boy' comment. "Take me to the Jarl. I need to see him. Like, now."

The guard huffed, but then opened the gate and called a five-person escort. The soldiers continually pestered him with questions, but Percy told them nothing. He wanted Balgruuf to hear it firsthand - the dragon's defeat, and the weird absorption thing that had happened to him. He wanted some answers and some direction, and the petty king was his best shot at either of them.

The lengthy walk up to Dragonsreach gave him another rather depressing view of class structure. The Plains District was the main exit and entry point to the city; this was where the commoners, the poor, and the destitute lived. It was by far the biggest segment. The next district - literally at a higher elevation than the Plains - was the Wind District. This was where the bowyers, the fletchers, the smiths, the chandlers, the saddlers, the merchants, the peddlers, and a whole bunch of temples were. Up another step was the Wind District: home to the various nobility and high clergymen, along with the mansions that the Jarl's vassals owned but were rarely lived in. In the center of it all was the Jarl's palace, Dragonsreach.

The guards opened the doors of the palace and allowed Percy to walk in by himself. He slowly approached the throne, where Balgruuf held court with his cabinet and the assorted nobles. A hush fell over the group as Percy approached.

The demigod decided to kneel at the foot of the Jarl, since that seemed to be the thing to do. "The dragon is dead. I'm sorry, sir, but the brigade of soldiers and Irileth did not make it. Ah, neither did the watchtower."

Balgruuf nodded. "We hold a funeral for them, give them all - and my loyal Irileth - true Nordic burials. But the dragon is dead? Truly?"

Percy presented the scale and bone.

The crowd clapped madly, while Balgruuf rose his voice. "Stand up, my friend."

Percy did so, trying really hard to maintain all of his composure. "Sir, something else happened at the watchtower."

Balgruuf locked eyes with a few of his military advisers. "Might I guess," he said, "that it has something to do with the call from the Greybeards?"

"Umm... if you mean that huge shout that caused a sonic boom, then possibly."

Percy then proceeded to tell the court what exactly had happened after Mirmulnir had died. The weird burning light, how the draconic being's flesh melted away leaving only bone, and how the burning light entered him. By the end of his speech, most of room seemed utterly shocked.

The petty king straightened up a bit. "By the Nine... you're Dragonborn."

_Dragonborn._

Quaranir had called him that... more than once.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Percy asked.

There was scattered chatter all across the room; some people were excited at this, others sounded rather fearful and an odd few held contempt. This continued until Balgruuf called, "SILENCE!" After a second or two, the palace was quiet again. The Jarl rose to his feet. "My friend, the Septim Emperors were Dragonborn - men born with the soul of a dragon. Legend says that it's bestowed by Akatosh on mortals he favors - or, it can pass through the generations."

Soul of a dragon? But... that went against_ everything _Percy knew about monsters. They didn't have souls like mortals did; when they died, they returned to the Underworld to be reborn again. Archetypes, Chiron had called them. Each type of monster shared a hive mind with their species.

But even thinking that... the dragons in this world were NOT like dragons on Earth. Peleus was a badass, sure, but he wasn't... _sentient. _Yeah, that was the right word. Most monsters could talk but didn't think like humans - they were really stupid. Mirmulnir was not a stupid dragon. There must have been a difference. Different breeds between the different worlds? It hurt Percy's head to think about.

But Percy... soul of a dragon? No. he was already part human, part god. But then he felt that cold part of his gut warm up in pleasure... no! He _couldn't _have been part dragon. How had it even happened?! This "Akatosh" guy wasn't even existent on earth, as far as Percy knew. And how would he choose to "favor" mortals?

"So... what does that have to do with absorbing the dragon's power, then?"

Balgruuf was pacing now. "The legends say that when dragons fight to the death, the winner eats the loser's essence. They use the information to become stronger." The man's face suddenly lit up with excitement. "By the Nine, you can use the Voice like one of them! Like old Tiber Septim!"

More excited discussion among the members of the court. Percy felt hopeless and lost, as this thing really began to dawn on him.

After a minute or so of scattered talking, the Jarl silenced his vassals and courtiers again. "Enough!" The man sank back into his throne. "I can tell by the look on your face, Percy Jackson, that you are confused. I would certainly hope so; any sane man should be, if given the circumstances." A servant walked up to the king and offered him a drink, which he shrugged off. "The Dragonborn is uniquely gifted in the ancient magic of the Voice: the oral magic the dragons use."

Percy remembered suddenly that before Mirmulnir - or Alduin, for that matter - used a three-word incantation before each attack. The ice, fire, and energy attacks were really forms of magic, then. His head swam at the possibilities. "So... I could do that too?"

"Aye, you could. And that call from the top of The Throat of the World? That was the Greybeards summoning you! If anyone can help you learn to harness that power, it's them." A deadly silence engulfed the throne room this time as the lord stood once again. "But the Greybeards aren't going anywhere. Dragonborn or not, you saved my city, friend. And I would ask you to stay in my castle tonight and then take part in a ceremony tomorrow... and I will make you a Thane."

THAT caused all sorts of quibbling. A few of the nobles were quite upset, and Percy heard "dirty", "commoner", and "peasant" more than once. Balgruuf glared them into silence. "This man here has done more for Whiterun than any in recent memory. It doesn't matter his rank, birthright, or nationality, what matters is valor and his deeds. Tomorrow, he will be made Thane." The Jarl looked around the room to meet everyone's eyes and then nodded.. "Court adjourned for the night. Percy, follow me."

The demigod did so, and the petty king led him up the stairs towards the war room. "As you're a foreigner, you're probably wondering what a Thane is."

"I am."

Balgruuf scratched his beard. "In High Rock or Cyrodiil, I'd imagine the closest thing to a Thane would be a Knight. It's the highest position of power I can grant you. It's... honorary, mostly. But it _would _elevate you to nobility, help you... become respected among Skyrim's elite."

If nobility meant, like, a change of clothes, a bath, and a few hot meals, Percy was all for that. "So what exactly would I be doing? Is there..."

"It's purely honorary," Balgruuf assured him. They arrived in the war room, and the Jarl sat down. Percy did so as well. "Tomorrow we can hold the ceremony and swear you in. Then you can be off for High Hrothgar."

While Percy had no idea what the Dragonborn stuff really meant, he knew that it obviously had to do with the "go-and-kill-the-big-black-dragon" endgoal. If getting out of this world was on top of his list, then he'd have to do whatever it took. He sat up a bit and looked at the map of Skyrim on the table. "So I'm new here. Where's High Hrothgar?"

Balgruuf pointed to a small area of the map encircled by a bold black line. "There. High Hrothgar is independent from the squabbles of the land - no country holds it. It's sacred, and so any man can set foot in the territory and not be persecuted. Getting there is a bit trickier." He pointed to Whiterun in the center of the map. "Take the road down through Riverwood, past the Falkreath border, and then it splits off at Helgen. Err, used to split off at Helgen. I would guess it's a smoking ruin now."

"Most likely."

"At any rate, head east there, through the mountain pass. Once you've reached Ivarstead - that little town there - it should be easy to find your way up."

"Up?"

"Yes. The monastery is located near the summit of the Throat of the World. I've made the pilgrimage up the mountain once - the Seven Thousand Steps, they call it. A two-day trek. You'd best be prepared for alpine travel."

Percy nodded slowly and then laughed a bit crazily to himself. "Yep. Climb a really tall mountain, kill a few dragons. All in a day's work."

Balgruuf chuckled to himself, as if he found it equally as absurd. "Aye. I'll have my servants escort you to the guest quarters. Best you rest up."

* * *

**23rd of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Late Afternoon**

Percy felt like a total jerk for acknowledging the fact - with the fact that many people in the city below were in poverty - but he quite enjoyed being all rich and stuff for a day.

He took a bath (THANK THE GODS) and washed all the week's worth of crap off his skin and out of his hair. He'd gotten some decent clothes - woven cotton clothing, which Percy hadn't even known existed here. They'd eaten a rather large feast - some sort of fish and SWAN and MUTTON and "HORKER" were all courses. The main beverage was wine - something about the water usually being unclean. So Percy drank a goblet of wine. Wasn't the first time he'd partaken in the art of beverage-ing, if he was to be honest.

He was thoroughly full, sated, clean and rather chipper given his rather crap circumstances. And so he didn't complain not even once as Balgruuf lightly outlined the ritual that he'd go through. He'd go into the throne room and do... something, he couldn't remember exactly.

He was near the entrance of the castle, as that was where he'd been instructed to wait. After a short while, a servant came to fetch Percy. The demigod self-consciously smoothed out his clothes and then entered the main chamber.

The entire was seated, as well as some other warriors Percy hadn't seen yet. They seemed to be armored in some sort of unique armor with wolf patterns and designs, but there was no reason to dwell on that. He approached the petty king, who was in his usual slouch.

Percy stopped a few feet in front of the throne and bowed, since it seemed like the thing to do. "Kneel, my friend." Balgruuf rose from his ornate seat of power as Percy sank to one knee and bowed his head.

"The man in front of us has proven his worth to Whiterun and its lands far more than we could ask of a stranger. No one here could call themselves a true Plainsman and deny him the honors." No one said anything. "He may not be of Whiterun, he may not be a Nord, and he may not have been born in this land, but he's been tempered by the breath of Kynareth and the heart of Talos.

"He, who deserves the honor, shall be born again in the blood of this land." The contents of a small bucket of water was dumped on his head. The river water was ice-cold and Percy wasn't expecting it, but it was still reinvigorating. He could tell, due to his watersense, that it was from the River White. "Rise, Percy Jackson. Son of Skyrim, and Thane of Whiterun!"

Percy stood up to the cheers and couldn't help but feel his heart race. Son of Skyrim. Thane of Whiterun. Dragonborn. A new set of titles. Wouldn't it be crazy if he could rise to greatness again?

He was so into it that he joined the courtiers in their merriment and had a few beverages before eventually finding his bed.

* * *

**This chapter was total filler, but we'll get the show on the road next chapter, I promise. Next time, Percy will meet his first companion - aka his Housecarl-servant-lady - and embark on the journey to begin his Dragonborn shenaniganty. Is shenaniganty a word? I hope so.**


	11. Eldawyn the World-Drinker

**24th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Noon**

Percy woke up to a pounding headache. Dammit.

He'd somehow ended up in his bed, thankfully. But the effects of the moderate beveraging from the night before were making itself known. He shook himself awake groggily, thanked the gods and the divines and Buddha and Vishnu and everyone else that he hadn't woken up with a girl in the bed.

He slid into clothing in the guest bedroom closet - simple deerskin pants and a yellow cotton shirt - and headed down into court.

He saw Jarl Balgruuf doing what kings did when they held this stuff - commoners would walk in, mention their issue, and Balgruuf would swear up and down to solve their problem. Whether he actually did so, Percy figured it made the people like him more. If Percy had a king, he wouldn't want him to sit in his room all day and pretend like his subjects didn't exist.

Percy waited silently for the current man - a farmer from the western area of the Jarldom, a cotton picker - to be finished with his little spiel before approaching the throne. "Good afternoon, my Thane. How are you?"

"Afternoon?" Percy groaned, stretching. "Yeah, I don't know if leaving today is the best idea."

"I'd say so, you look... rough. As well, I've had the best smith in Skyrim working on a new set of armor for you." _Armor. _Percy hated metal armor - too restrictive. Hopefully it wasn't plate metal. "Should be done by tomorrow. Until then, I can direct you to the property that comes with your title."

The demigod raised an eyebrow. "Property?"

* * *

Percy slogged through the still-continuing thunderstorm to another perk of his new job.

A nice big wooden house in the Wind District came with the title. The place was huge - fully stocked kitchen, display cases everywhere, a spacious bedroom. He set his only item - Riptide and its scabbard (that was still weird to him) on the bedside table, and flopped down onto the mattress. The sheets were linen, the featherbed was remarkably soft under his weight.

He then realized how utterly absurd this all was.

Percy shot to his feet and clipped Riptide around his waist for safekeeping. He then marched back out of the house, ignoring the queries about what he'd like cooked for dinner and how hot he liked his baths.

He went right back up into the castle and waited in line for his turn to address Jarl Balgruuf like a regular person. He could've walked right in, but he was feeling super anti-authority and teenage-rebellion-y.

After an hour or so, Percy stood in front of the court. "My Thane, you needn't stand in the line when you wish to see me."

Percy shook his head. "I'd rather wait, if you don't mind."

"Well then," Balgruuf said, "what would you ask of me, Percy?"

Percy thought about how to word his request and then nodded to himself before looking at the petty king. "I'm not going to be in the city very much, so it makes no sense for me to leave a big empty house all the time."

"And what would you suggest?"

"Well..." Percy started, forcing eye contact with the ruler. "A few days ago, there was an street urchin down in the Plains District that I met. Little girl, who said that a friend of hers was killed by a rich man." Balgruuf paled. "I don't now how many orphans are in the city, but it's not right to leave them on the street. I want you to use my house as an orphanage."

An armored woman standing next to Balgruuf put a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Are you saying our Jarl isn't doing enough? Because-"

"Lydia, calm down," Balgruuf ordered, glaring at her. The woman nodded and relaxed once more. "You needn't cause trouble on your first day." He looked at Percy with a hint of annoyance. "Lydia's my new Housecarl, due to Irileth's unfortunate death."

"Right," Percy said, not caring too much, "So do we have an agreement? You'll turn my home into a place for the orphans?"

Balgruuf hesitated for a second before nodding slowly. "I suppose if that's what you want done with it... you saved my city! Of course we can do it. I'll have the mayor on the job at once."

Percy bowed his head. "Uhh, thank you."

Balgruuf glanced back at his courtiers. "Where's our Thane's Housecarl? In the castle, correct?"

"The kitchen, I think," Lydia answered.

Percy decided to play the dumb foreigner again and ask questions. "So what's a Housecarl do, exactly?"

"We're sworn to our liege's service," Lydia said, cutting off Balgruuf who was just about to answer the question himself. She wasn't doing much to make the Jarl like him. "We guard our liege and all that he might own with our lives. Well... that's the idea, anyway."

Percy didn't bother to ask what that meant, so he nodded his head and allowed another servant to escort him to the kitchens. He wondered briefly if the servants were paid or were slaves. He decided that they were paid, if only to ease his conscious a bit.

The kitchens were a large affair, with braziers lighting the room at interval, along with various ovens. Men and women hustled about, preparing ingredients and the like. Percy frowned, confused. If this guy was supposed to be Percy's bodyguard, what was he doing in here?

He continued to look around for anyone who didn't seem to be a cook or a servant. His eyes finally settled on a figure clad in what seemed to be a black robe with a lot of stringy, yellow hair. The person had his back turned to Percy, so he couldn't get a look at him. In the person's hand was a goblet, filled halfway with what seemed to be a red wine. Was this the Housecarl that Lydia talked about?

Percy approached him, unsure of what exactly to say. The figure was sitting down at a table, and Percy recklessly decided to sit down in chair, hoping the individual sitting there was not an axe-murderer.

He was about to sit down when the man turned - and the man turned out to be a woman. She had golden skin, and just the top of her clearly pointed ears poked out from beneath her hair. Percy was terrible at judging ages, and he had absolutely no idea about this woman. She had that timeless feel he often encountered with Greek mythological figures.

"T'is the man, right here! And I thought I was going to have to find you." She had a hard to place accent; English, definitely, rather than the lower, more Scottish accent Sparrow had spoken in. This was a bit more posh and high class, but not uncomfortably so. She seemed amiable enough. "Well, sit down! Have a drink."

Percy's faint headache told him it was a _terrible _idea. But it _would _be rude. "Alright. Something weak maybe." He sunk into the seat and put a hand in his forehead dramatically. He said in a terrible High English accent, "I am just _so _faint, dear."

The woman - maybe that wasn't the right word? She wasn't a human, clearly. Percy'd heard talk of "elves", obviously, but he'd only ever seen those grey-skinned ones... gah, what were they called... Dunmer? Yeah. But she was golden-skinned. "Well, _your_ accent sounds a bit like a Dunmer eunuch from Vivec. I'm Eldawyn."

Percy coughed. "Uh, Eldawyn?"

"Yes." She took another sip before noticing the strange look that Percy gave her. She sighed. "El-da-wyn, not Al-du-in. Not even remotely spelled the same. And I don't look like the Nordic divine of dragons, do I?"

"I guess not."

"Oi, Denmira! A bottle of Falinesti White! Put it on my tab!"

Percy ran a hand through his hair and stretched his arms out. "Right. So you're the person who's sworn to protect me? Dive in front of an enemy sword valiantly, push me out of the way of an arrow, all that?"

The wine arrived, and Eldawyn poured Percy a goblet expertly. She slid it to him, and Percy was relieved that the stuff wasn't strong at all. "Bosmer sugar-water for the lightweight," she said mockingly. "Ah, yes. Well, I heard you were headed to High Hrothgar, and so I volunteered to come with you. Oh, and to protect your life and your possessions and all that rubbish."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Good to know my great friend the Jarl assigned me such a loyal servant."

"Oh, you needn't worry about dying," Eldawyn boasted. "I'm one of the better lightning mages in Skyrim, I'd imagine. But that's unimportant." She looked back at her nearly empty wine glass. "Now _wine, _that's what's important. I love wine nearly as much as Lydia loves whining." She sighed dramatically. "I could go for a good Tamika Vintage 399 right about now. But it's _so _hard to find Third Era bottles all of sudden. The war is what did it."

Percy was about to say something before he entirely blanked. "Wow, that went off track. I totally forgot what I was going to ask you. Must be the-"

"Although some may say that the spiced wine up in Solitude rivals any vintage the Third Era produced. I'd say those people have _never _been to the Isles."

"You have a talent for talking."

"I've always wanted to try an Argonian Bloodwine myself. Well, I _have._ But I was too busy gulping and not tasting. There's a-" She cut herself off suddenly and looked at Percy. "Am I doing something funny?"

The son of Poseidon finished his silent fit of laughter. "So, you clearly like wine. Well, that's something I've learned about you. What else? Uh... why're you in Whiterun anyway? There doesn't seem to be an abundance of... um..."

"Altmer? Yes, there's rather a lack of Altmer in Skyrim as a whole. Well, I've lived in this country for the better part of my life. But I've come to Whiterun for the Skyforge and for Farangar."

Percy took another sip. "Skyforge? What's that?"

Eldawyn shrugged. "Well, it's this big huge forge out behind Jorrvaskr - where those mercenaries, the Companions, are based in. It's ancient - the man who runs the forge, Eorlund, says the city was built around the forge itself. It's magical to some degree. Anyway, Eorlund allows me to craft jewelry at the forge. I take them up to the laboratory here in the castle and enchant them with little affects to raise their value. Then Farangar buys them."

Enchant, eh? More magical stuff that Percy didn't understand. Maybe someday. "Wait, Farangar buys this jewelry? Every time?"

"Yes. He says he has buyers who will pay more, and so he makes a tidy profit. But he's the highest buyer I know. I suppose he might like to wear them. Maybe I should enchant him a pretty dress to go along with it."

Percy snorted at the mental image. Farangar reminded Percy of a less-evil, mutton-chopped Octavian. "Yes, he would look amazing in a dress. Make that happen, please."_  
_

"Perhaps someday, should we survive our adventure."

That made the Dragonborn remember what was in the back of his mind. "Wait. Why exactly are you volunteering to be my Housecarl?"

"You're going to High Hrothgar, I said that already."

"Yeah, but you aren't a Nord. Isn't it a holy place for the Nords only? For you, it's just a long climb up a mountain."

Eldawyn didn't answer, but only wordless poured herself another glass. "You seem to have a bit of an obsession with wine," Percy noted belated.

She shrugged. "I don't see that as a negative. My few Nord friends often chide me for neglecting the rich history of history of Skyrim, as if I was ignorant of it. They say, 'You know, Elda, there's more to Skyrim than just aalto and spice wine.' And I tell them, 'Yes, yes, I know all about your battles, your bards, your windmills, your twelve different words for cold. I only care for the wine.'" She looked at her full goblet with glee. "When it comes to examining wine, though, I'm still just a novice. I have picked up the basics, however."

"Such as?"

"Well, I've learned to tilt my goblet and examine for color and clarity." She did so to demonstrate. "Supposedly it can tell you the wine's provenance, as well as the conditions it was fermented in. It should serve as in indicator of how well the wine shall taste."

"That's... uhh... fascinating?"

"Indeed. They say tasting wine is all about 'discovery'. Well, I've 'discovered' I enjoy drinking wine more than tasting it." To demonstrate, she knocked back the whole goblet in one fell swoop. "I prefer to drink like a common rube."

Percy smiled and decided there were certainly worse people he could be stuck with for the climb. "And so why are you going with me again?"

Eldawyn laughed for a few seconds. "Ah, yes. Well, the Greybeards are separated from the world up at the top of the mountain, right? They must eat whatever they can grow with magic, they must make clothing for themselves."

"So?"

"So... they _must _make their own wine, right?"

Percy facepalmed as he realized what this all rooted from. "Wow... you swore your life to me _just _to try the Greybeards' special wine?"

"Of course! Think of how many people have _ever _tasted that!" Eldawyn was positively glowing with excitement. It might've just been her skin-color, though. "It's a golden opportunity that I'd shutter to pass up."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm also quite good with lightning, and I yearn to do more with my years than sell necklaces and rings to a gaunt Breton." She shrugged arrogantly. "I'll follow you, and blow our enemies to tiny bits. But fifty percent of our loot money is going towards wine."

Percy looked at her blankly.

"Kidding, kidding." She started on yet another goblet. Jeez, she could really hold her own. "So when are we heading out?"

The son of Poseidon thought about that for a second. "Tomorrow, definitely. Before noon, hopefully. It's two day's ride to Riverwood, maybe another two on down to Helgen..."

"I'd wager three full days crossing the Jeralls using Filheim Pass. I've heard it's mountainous, snowy. That won't be fun, especially if it keeps storming."

"And another two days up the mountain..." Percy counted on his fingers, and his answer made his head hurt. "That's nine full days of travel, Eldawyn. Are you still so obsessed with the Greybeards' wine?"

"Of course!"

Percy chuckled lightly. "I'm going to laugh so hard when it tastes like deer piss."

"Shut your mouth, Percy. Or better yet, fill it with liquid bless. I've much to teach you."

**25th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Nine AM**

The newly minted Dragonborn felt even worse than he did the previous morning.

Eldawyn was apparently almost invulnerable to drunkenness - Percy counted that she'd had at least twelve goblets last night and had absolutely nothing to eat - but her Thane was no such master. Having her around all the time would not be good for Percy's health.

None the less, he was up at an ungodsly hour of the morning. He'd been summoned by Balgruuf for his farewell ceremony _thing. _A few servants tried to get Percy looking acceptable to little success. He was eventually stuffed in fancy clothes and more or less pushed to the throne room.

The court was assembled around Balgruuf, with Eldawyn standing next to the Jarl. She was wearing something different - it seemed to be a very heavily-modified set of plain blue robes. She'd reinforced it with leather on the arms, with long leather bracers that left her hands exposed. Her shoulders were also protected, and she wore a sort of leather vest that covered her midsection from weather and held many pockets. It could clearly be slipped on or off. It was tied at the waist with a gold belt, to keep everything from flapping around. The robes were shorter than Farangar's, ending above the knee for praticality. Baggy deerskin pants ended at leathers boots that came up to the knee. It was all very badass, in an Assassin's Creed kind of way. The smiling Altmer herself appeared to be experiencing zero hangover.

"Welcome, my Thane." Balgruuf stood and bowed, snapping Percy back into the real world. He parroted the action clumsily. "The chief blacksmith of this city, Eorlund Grey-Mane, has a gift for you."

Percy vaguely remembered Eldawyn mentioning the guy - the dude who ran the big old magical forge. "Aye, I have. Thanks to Skyforge's magics, I can craft faster than the average smith." The voice came from a white-haired man who looked very stereotypically blacksmith-esque. "I had the leather available, and so I made you a coat of boiled leather and mail for your travels."

Despite not being a huge fan of armor, it wasn't plated, which was something Percy dreaded. He needed movement and flexibility, and what the smith had made could give him that. "Thank you. Where's the set, then?"

"Down at my forge. You may visit when our Jarl is done here."

"Thank you again, Eorlund. I'll pay you." Percy had more currency - in both coin and raw gemstones - than he had any idea what to do with. It really only seemed fair to him.

"No, you needn't-"

"Eorlund, please. You may discuss this with my Thane afterwards," Balgruuf ordered in a casual tone. "Percy, I've had my men round up supplies to aid you on your journey. Your Housecarl, Eldawyn, will accompany you as well. The entire city gives you thanks and good luck on your journey."

"Thank you. I'll go see what these Greybeards can teach me."

"The horses we've picked for the two of you are saddled at my personal stables, and are carrying the provisions. I shall see you soon, my Thane."

* * *

Enough supplies to last the two comfortably for five or six days if they ate and drank conservatively. Hopefully they could restock in Ivarstead for the climb upwards. Eldawyn led the ride through Whiterun towards the Skyforge, which she said was in the Wind District. Their dark-colored horses clopped through puddles on cobblestone streets. "This rain isn't relenting." Percy noted. The cloak he'd been handed as he went out the door wasn't very good at holding back the water.

"That could be bad," Eldawyn said, noting the obvious. "But, ah... Well, the armor Eorlund made is bound to hold out the elements."

"Speaking of armor, whatever you have looks pretty cool."

She shrugged and adjusted the hood. "It's more practical than the dresses most mages often prance about in. If a hulking barbarian bares down on me with an axe, I won't die instantly. Also, I've had this vest made with several pockets. Need I even say what are in these pockets?"

"I'm going to guess flasks."

"You're right, of course."

They eventually arrived at what looked like an upside-down viking boat to Percy. "This is where the Companions are headquartered. Big mindless mercenaries, who fight only for coin. The forge is up there."

A slender yellow finger pointed up towards a huge wooden-carved eagle. He could see just the top of what was clearly a large blaze. "Well... let's head up then. Where'd Eorlund go?"

"Who knows? One of his assistants or apprentices is bound to be up there. They can point you towards your precious armor."

And so Percy dismounted while Eldawyn took a swig from one of her flasks and promised to watch the horses. He headed up the stairs and stared at the rather impressive forge. A young man was polishing a sword and sitting in a chair. He wordlessly pointed to a shed. The Dragonborn walked into the small structure to find his gift.

True to Eorlund's word, the cuirass was made of boiled, hardened leather. On it was a circular insignia - the head of a dragon, surrounded by lettering of a language he didn't recognize. He slid it on, along with the reinforced pauldrons along his shoulders. The sleeves were hide covered in chainmail; the gauntlets simple leather. The graves were boiled as well, with mail reinforcement. Also present was a thick set of black leather boots.

Percy quickly geared up in full, and suddenly he felt significantly warmer. He grabbed a black leather cloak from a shelf to replace his sucky one, and thought of getting a shield but then decided against it. He tied Riptide's scabbard to his belt.

He kind of wished there was a mirror to see himself in. This was certainly different from the armor he used for Capture the Flag or otherwise. It was comfortable and warm, which would go a long way in Skyrim. He wondered what Annabeth would've said if she could see him.

He took a deep breath and exited back out into the weather.

* * *

**DAMMIT.**

**YOU PEOPLE HAVE EXPOSED ME FOR THE FRAUD I AM. I FORGOT PERCY JACKSON DIDN'T EAT FISH. STORY IS CANCELED. GG NERDS.**

**No but really, I was more concerned with getting the meal to Skyrim's standards. There's tons of rivers and lakes in the country, and it's based off the fish-eating countries of Scandinavia. The once-mentioned fact that Percy didn't eat fish purely on principle slipped my mind. I'M FUCKING SORRY.**

**SO YOU CAN STOP POINTING THAT OUT TO ME NOW, IT GOT ANNOYING AFTER ONE DM. I GET IT. STOP.**

**Anyway. If you've ever played Skyrim on PC with the Interesting NPCs Mod, then you'll almost definitely know exactly who EldawyIn is, considering I ripped her off 100% from that mod. I thought a wine-loving Altmer mage follower would be more interesting than goddamn Lydia. So yeah.**

**School starts in a few days, and thusly "uploads will be less frequent" blah blah blah. I'm taking my first ever US History class because I moved here from the UK, so I'm bound to be really shit at that. I'll need to work hard on that, as well as other AP stuff. God, American school is so much harder than it was back home. But I digress.**

**Face Hugz,**

**Professor Marmalade**


	12. The Honored and the Dishonorable

"By the Eight, what a nightmare!"

"It was as black as the night!"

The small forest clearing somewhere near the ruins of Helgen was abuzz with talk. All of the men, women, and children were refugees from the destruction of Helgen. They talked around a large fire; out of an outpost numbering a thousand or so people, only forty people made it out. All of them Nords.

"All of our possessions, just gone!"

"Silence!"

The loud chattering paused as a clean-shaven, red-headed man stepped forward. "The path is clear. Helgen's military garrison was no match for the beast! If the biggest center of Imperial military power in Skyrim cannot protect us, then who can?!"

A chorus of agreement filled the air. The speaker had a certain charisma to him - his voice and the way that he spoke made you like him instantly. "That beast is a demon from the darkest pits of Oblivion! It was sent by the Divines to curse our heresy!"

"What are you speaking of, Malik? The Divines are strong and benevolent; they've never punished us before." This time there was a few members of the crowd saying "aye" or other such things.

The man named Malik scoffed. "We've forsaken Talos, the sacred Ninth! We are his countrymen, his most devout followers! And we left him as we bowed knee to those blasted elves! This was a curse sent from him, to punish us!"

No one spoke for a few seconds, so Malik continued.

"That beast was a pure work of evil and malice - an angel of death, come to exterminate the Divines' sacrilegious followers! We cannot defeat them! We must submit! Through prayer and faith, we must plead for forgiveness!"

He stared a whole bunch of the other refugees in the eye, and yet none of them dared speak. "We must bow to these beasts, and beg for our lives! Only through submission to the dragons and faith in the Divines should we be free again! We must spread the word to all, lest we are destroyed!"

There was a crashing "AYE!"

Malik dropped to a knee and pulled out a dagger. "Merciful Talos, I give myself to you." The man made a cut on his hand and let the blood drip out into a pool on the ground. "I shall spread your love to all, and prove to you that we are worthy of your grace."

* * *

**27th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Early Morning**

"Jackson? Wake up!"

Percy snapped awake, mind still reeling from the dream. That was clearly a vision of some kind, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. There were crazy religious people somewhere nearby. Okay.

Eldawyn was peering into Percy's tent with a canteen in her hand. Whether it was wine or water, Percy wasn't sure. She seemed to have a nearly endless supply of the former. Where she stashed it, he had no idea.

Percy scooted forward out of his small tent, stood up, and stretched. They each had small leather tents that took awhile to put up and down, as well as fur ones that were supposedly warmer when they went on the climb. Two days in, and everything had been smooth-sailing. Well, except for the nonstop rain.

"How close are we to Riverwood, would you say?" Percy asked.

"No idea. A few hours, perhaps?"

They went about their usual morning routine - Percy fed and watered the horses while Eldawyn began dissembling the tents. The trip so far had been remarkably uneventful. Just forests and smalltalk.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Eldawyn had a few interesting stories to tell, and Percy modified a few tales of his own adventures to make them sound less... insane. She even seemed mildly impressed by his plethora of experience, despite being eighteen.

That reminded Percy - right then and there - of something he'd been wondering for ages. "Eldawyn?"

"Yes?"

"How old are you? I cannot for the life of me tell."

"Sixty-seven."

Percy made a face and took a step back. "Uh..."

The Housecarl rolled her eyes. "It's common knowledge that humans age faster than elves - you usually go about two and a half times faster than the average Altmer. Which makes you fourty-five in _actual_ years."

"No, that makes _you_..." Percy sucked at math but made a rough estimate in his head. "That makes you... twenty-something in _actual_ years."

"I'd argue that-"

And an arrow whizzed by Percy's head and embedded itself in a nearby tree. "Shit!"

"Freeze and don't move! That was a warning shot. Twitch a muscle and I'll not be so lenient next time!"

Percy did so, putting his hands up. Eldawyn did the same after a second of grumbling. He knew archers were some of the most dangerous people in the world, and he was too groggy to dodge arrows.

A trio of people approached, stepping lightly. On the left side stood a Dunmer with armor of hide and leather, and to the right stood a Nord man in plated steel. In the middle stood a tall woman with red hair and green facepaint. Her armor looked rather skimpy, like something out of a video game. She had an arrow nocked and pointed at Eldawyn's chest.

As soon as they came close, she exhaled in frustration. "Eldawyn?! Dammit!" She rolled her eyes. "Ria, Torvar! Come out. It's the damned Altmer that Eorlund fancies."

"Aela. Delighted to see you." Eldawyn's accent twisted the name, making it sound like "Ee-ay-ler". Percy guessed it wasn't actually pronounced that way.

"We're on the lookout for a thief who escaped from Whiterun not too long ago. A few paintings and an expensive warhammer, the man got away with." Aela's bow was pointed at the ground at this point, so Percy relaxed a bit. "We've heard he's headed this way. Any suspicious figures?"

"None that I saw. And you, Percy?"

"Nothing."

The woman named Ria raised her eyebrow. "Who's this, then?" She had slightly more tanned skin and a slight English accent.

"Percy Jackson. Charmed to receive such a warm welcome from a bunch of strangers."

The Dunmer's hand went to hilt, but Aela called him off. "Enough, Athis. This boy is the Dragonborn. Off to see the Greybeards, then?"

"Yeah." Percy expected groveling or at least some sort of praise from these people for his super-cool dragon soul. That was what he got from most others. But, nothing. From any of them. He really liked that, actually.

"You're good-looking. Shall we have a drink sometime?" The words came from the large, armored man named Torvar.

"Sorry, mate. I don't swing that way."

He shrugged. "Worth trying."

Aela looked pointedly at the man. "Torvar! Now is not the time. If these two have nothing to say -"

A deafening roar rippled across the valley.

Percy's stomach dropped. Yeah, this was about to happen. In the middle of a forest. Everyone else froze and looked at Percy.

"Yeah, it's exactly what you think it is."

He quickly counted the people he had to fight with... seven, including himself. Okay, he could work with that. He'd fought with seven people before. Rather extensively, in fact. Given that he had survived two dragon encounters and was the only person to actually kill one of these things, he figured he was in command.

"How many of us have ranged attacks?"

All but the Nord man with black hair next to Aela nodded.

"Alright, then. Hit the dragon with whatever you can. What's your name, then?"

"Farkas."

The man was a lot older than Percy, and he looked a lot stronger as well. Probably had a lot more experience. He pulled a gargantuan sword off his back. "Stay with me. I'll try to bait it into landing."

"How exactly did you kill this thing the first time?" Aela asked.

"With a lot of luck. And... also I wasn't in a forest. Where's the nearest clearing?"

The Dunmer pointed over his shoulder in the general direction of behind him. "A few hundred yards that way."

The group of warriors - Percy still didn't know who they were, other than the fact that they knew Eldawyn - dashed for the clearing. Percy really hoped that this dragon wasn't a fan of fire. Because... forest fires suck, in general.

The arrived in the clearing that was maybe about the size of a football pitch. Percy took Riptide out of his scabbard and turned to his small army. "Throw everything you have at it."

Percy prepared himself, and for the first time shouted **"FUS!"**

And then a green being swooped overhead, almost like it was tracking Percy. "RANGED ATTACKS, GO!" Eldawyn and the others let loose on the thing - some hitting more frequently than others. A nice chunk of arrows managed to connect with the lizard, and it roared defiantly.

**"You shall make fine game, mortals!"**

Suddenly, Percy's gut caught fire. And soon he was filled with singular focus and a vigor he didn't know he had. The dragon soul was doing the pushing. That was still unbelievably alien to him.

He stepped out with Farkas at his side and stared up at the monster, brimming with this inhuman confidence he found deep inside of him. "FACE ME! IF WE ARE TO MAKE SUCH FINE GAME, FACE US ON THE GROUND!"

**"FUS RO DAH!"**

The blue wave of energy knocked Ria, Aela, and Torvar off their feet and sent their bows and arrows flying. He could hear scattered swearing amongst his meager little army. But he was on autopilot at this point. Percy's inner dragon was finally being let out, and it relished the moment. **"FUS!" **Percy cried up at the dragon, a weaker force that was more of a pathetic challenge than anything.

"KEEP FIRING!" He cried to his rangers, who by now consisted only of Athis and Eldawyn. The remaining five all had melee weapons - Percy with Riptide, Farkas with the wicked sword, Aela with a dagger, Ria with a sword and shield, and Torvar with an axe. Them against a dragon, then. A dragon who seemingly couldn't put two and two together and realize that fire would turn his game into more of a barbecue. Not that Percy was really complaining.

"LAND! I CHALLENGE YOU!"

And suddenly, everything seemed to slow down.

An arrow loosed from Athis's bow was on point from the second it left the string. Percy could practically see it's beautiful trajectory; it impacted with the beast's left wing and caught some sort of ligament. It lost its flight and crashed into the clearing. Now was when things got interesting.

Percy flung himself into battle as he'd done many times before. He attacked the thing's mouth, probing its defenses. He slashed and made a decent gash under the dragon's left eye. But then: **"FOH KRAH DIIN!"**

The Dragonborn had barely enough time to hit the deck before the ice rolled over him, but it seemed to have caught Athis. As Percy came to his senses, Farkas took a running leap straight over him and out all of his weight into one rather amazing side-slash. The dragon roared in pain, allowing the other melee fighters to get in more injuries to the sides or wings.

Percy rose to his feet with the intention of ending this. He approached the dragon calmly, feinted low, and struck downwards on his head. He then rammed Riptide straight through the brain until he felt the blade hit mud.

He fell to his knees in the mud and the shit, feeling the rain wash over him. He watched the dragon's skin turn all wispy and glowy and orange-y as tendrils began to break off. One hit him, and the pain started again.

His mind and soul slowly grew, collecting more and more information than a human body was ever meant to hold. He compared it to Eldawyn later that day as kind of like really intense, migraine-level brain freeze for around thirty seconds.

Once it was done. He wobbled to his feet and pulled the sword out of the dragon skeleton. He turned to see the now-impressed faces of whoever these people were. "What exactly are you guys then?" He asked weakly.

"Are you alright?" Eldawyn asked.

"Yeah, I'm..." He suddenly vomited with almost no precursor warning. "I'm fine. So what are you? Army? Militia? Mercenaries?"

"We are the Companions, the oldest circle of warriors in Skyrim. If there's trouble around, we'll settle it if the coin is good." Aela's voice was a bit shaky, and had a touch of concern in it.

Ah, so that answered Percy's question. "Mercenaries you are, then. Well, it was a good fight." He cleaned Riptide with a cloth he kept on his belt. He still felt dazed, like the dragon soul was still kind of doing the moving.

"You need a drink, Percy," Eldawyn quickly said. She pulled out a flask from her pocket. "Go on, then."

And so Percy drank. Whatever was in the thing was absolutely vile; it burnt and made Percy's eyes water, but he finally felt as they he was back in control of his body. "Right, then. Blegh... so where are you guys going?"

The Companions still looked a bit shaken by the whole ordeal, but finally Ria said "I'm not sure. Aela?"

The Nord snatched her bow out of the bow and put it on her back. "The nearest town is Riverwood, so we should head there."

"We're going in that direction too," Percy said, sliding Riptide back into his shield. He pulled up his hood and drew the cloak closer around him; the constant rain was getting ridiculous.

"I think I know why it's been storming so much." The words came from Torvar, who didn't have any sort of coat or protection. Percy kinda felt bad for him, but he didn't seem to be uncomfortable. "They say-"

"Tell us on the way, Torvar." Aela seemed to be in charge, but Farkas - despite saying barely anything - also had a bit of an air of leadership about him. "We don't have horses, so if you could walk along and lead your rides behind you?"

Eldawyn and Percy shared a glance before the demigod shrugged. "Sure. Let's try to go find our camp."

* * *

Once all the gear was packed away and the seven began slogging their way towards Riverwood, Torvar continued his story.

"They say that when Tiber Septim first used the voice at the Battle of Hroldan in his his first victory as a general, the Greybeards figured out he was Dragonborn. So they summoned him with a great shout, just like they did you."

Ria coughed and patted Torvar's arm in surprise. "We all love you Torvar, but all you ever talk about are weapons, mead and men. You're being quite scholarly."

"Just because those are my three _favorite_ things doesn't mean I like other things too," Torvar snapped back, shaking off her arm jokingly. "Besides, what warrior doesn't like military history?"

"That's fair," Percy said. "I hate most of that stuff but military history is a different story."

"My brother talks about it a lot," Farkas muttered. "'Course, he's the smart one."

"Can I continue my story?" After a few seconds of silence, Torvar took the opportunity to keep going. "After the summons, a great storm set upon the area around the Throat of the World. The scholars agreed that the storm meant that the Greybeards would soon truly speak. The storm kept getting worse and worse, to the point where they had to evacuate the nearby farms and villages."

"This is sounding very little like military history to me," Athis pointed out with a wry smile. Just like the other Dunmer Percy'd seen, he had a deep, gravelly voice and not much of an accent.

"Regardless, this storms began right after you were summoned. It's just signifying your Dragon-ness."

"Great." Percy didn't know exactly who this Tiber Septim guy was, but he pictured the guy as similar to him - some dude being grabbed forward without really knowing what was going on or what it all meant. A plaything of beings higher than he was.

* * *

**27th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Noon**

"Ah, there's Riverwood. The little piece of garbage they call a town," Aela mused.

The small wooden fortifications really didn't look like they'd be any use versus a dragon. But orange-clad soldiers were busy moving quickly, talking amongst each other, and just generally being as ready as possible for a dragon attack.

"Companions, split up and search the area. Talk to guards, do whatever you must. I don't want to come back to Vignar with bad news. Well, go on! I'll catch up later."

The other four sallied out towards the town while Aela turned towards Percy and Eldawyn, the latter of whom put away her flask. "You fight well, Dragonborn."

"Please, call me Percy."

Aela shrugged. "Whichever you prefer. Percy, then. When I'd first heard of you, I thought you were just some reckless kid who got lucky."

"I _am _just a reckless kid who gets lucky. All the time."

She straightened her mouth into a line as she looked over the water-logged town. "You've experience that I'd never expect from someone so young. You keep at it, you'll be the best fighter in the world by the time you're grey."

Percy scoffed. "I doubt I'll make it that long."

"Well, that's not important right now, of course. But I vouch for you, Percy. Though your company is... _undesirable... _you fight with honor. Should you choose, we would welcome you as a Companion."

This was supposed to be some big honor, Percy realized. Aela had said it was the oldest group of mercenaries in Skyrim. But he really didn't care much at all. He had bigger and more important priorities that he wanted to complete as quickly as possible. "Thanks, but, uh, no thanks, Aela. I've got a lot on my plate right now. Sorry."

The archer shrugged. "Alright. Just know that if you're in Whiterun, you're welcome in Jorrvaskr." She started off down toward the town. Once she was out of earshot, Eldawyn muttered, "_Undesirable company... _that bitch..."

Percy nodded slightly. The comment had put him off as well. Eldawyn might've been hard to like, sure, but she seemed capable. Yeah there might've been nicer people around, but she wasn't bad. "Most Nords don't like magic, but the Companions are especially bad. I don't think it's a race thing, because Athis got in, but..." She shook her head and shrugged. "Whatever. Let's stock up in the Trader's and stop by the bar."

"Naturally."

They bought more food and water in the Trader, with Lucan giving them generous deals due to the favor Percy had done him. His sister, Camilla, flirted with Percy in a not-so-subtle manner. After Percy let her down in what he hoped was a quick and easy way, he and his housecarl were back out in the rain.

"She was all over you, Percy. She's good looking, too. Are you mad?!" Eldawyn punched his arm.

Percy shrugged. "I've already got someone. I wouldn't dare cheat on her, I'm going to marry her someday."

The elf only shook her head. "You're too young to know what you want." There was a brief silence. "Where is this girl, then?"

"Back home, and I aim to get back there as fast as I can."

"And where exactly is 'back home'?"

"Far away."

Eldawyn backed off the train of questioning as the two entered the local inn - "The Sleeping Giant". Upon entry, it looked quite small and dirty; a few men were passed out drunk on the benches, while the bartender - a gruff-looking man with a deep voice - and an woman in a blue dress talked quietly at the counter. "I'm exhausted after the fight, so I'm gonna go for a nap. Have fun."

* * *

**27th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Seven in the Afternoon**

After a dreamless kip, Percy rose from his rented bed in the Sleeping Giant to find that the inn was now more populated. It was rather full, with Percy counting thirty or so patrons. Most of them were chatting or shouting, while a small group of people in the corner were singing.

_"Oh we don't want to fight them, but By Talos if we do,_

_We've got the walls, we've got the pride! We've got Companions true!_

_We've fought them all before and we're Plainsmen through and through! _

_WHITERUN SHALL STAY INDEPEEEEEEEEEDENT!"_

The demigod stretched and approached the bar, where he asked the man for a cider. As the bartender went to fetch it, he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Well, there's a man I never thought I'd see again."

The voice was female, but low and Scottish. He recognized the voice immediately, but turned to see the person anyway. She was wearing civilian clothes rather than her armor and her bow was missing, but there was no mistaking who it was.

"Sparrow." The two shook hands and the girl sat down at the bar next to him. "So you're in Riverwood? Didn't expect that."

The thief shrugged. "I'm an unknown in Skyrim, so I can more or less go where I please. But you've had the vastly more interesting week than I've had."

When Orgnar returned with the drink, Sparrow put the money down on the counter. Percy hadn't expected that, but didn't say anything. He took a swig of the beverage and then set it down. "I guess you could say that. With all this Dragonborn business."

"Aye, I heard. So was it your ma or your da that was the dragon, then?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "Ha. Yeah, I have no idea how this happened. Ah, well."

After nearly a minute or no talking, Sparrow nudged his arm. "Rabbit, c'mon outside with me. I've something to tell you that can't be heard by prying ears."

There was a flicker of worry in Percy's mind, but he shrugged. "Sure. Lead on, then."

He left his drink on the counter as Sparrow led him outside and round the back to the abandoned patio. "What's so important that you dragged me out into the rain to hear?"

Sparrow didn't reply - she only pointed up towards the Throat of the World, which was easily seen. "This place is full of country bumpkins and yokels, sure, but it has a good view every so often, don't you think?"

Percy took a step forward and squinted up. He could just barely see a building nestled at the summit. "Yeah, I guess so-"

And then the blow to the back of his head.

The hit was so sudden and so by surprise that he fell forward into the much. His vision was blurry as he struggled to come back to his senses, but a swift kick to the stomach knocked his wind out. "Sorry there, Rabbit. Nothing personal, of course." Sparrow's voice was cloudy and hard to understand as he felt his bag of money and gems be swiftly removed. "Better luck next time, love."

"SPARROW!" Percy wheezed out, still desperately trying to catch his breath. She'd done him good - the hit to the back of the head and then the stomach kick. She'd even lured him outside to make the job easier. He felt immaculately stupid.

After a minute or so, he'd managed to breathe again and he stumbled to his feet, barely able to move. "SPARROW!" He hobbled onto the main street and saw a group of guards surrounding someone, all holding lamps. He moved as quickly as he could to that area.

"You've committed crimes against Whiterun and her people. What say you in your defense?"

"DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU BARBARIANS!"

He saw that Sparrow was completely surrounded by Whiterun soldiers, all with swords pointing at her. She clearly didn't have a weapon, but she still looked ready to do some crazy unarmed fisticuffs. "You're looking at a few years in the Dragonsreach Dungeon, dirty thief. What do you have to say for yourself."

"Hello, boys," Percy coughed out as he made his presence known. A few heads turned his way with awe.

"You're the Dragonborn!"

"I am, and that woman there took my stuff."

The guard in charge only looked more enraged. "Guilty of thieving from one of the Jarl's Thanes? This is worthy of public execution, Cyrodiilic. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Public execution? That stirred Percy's gut a bit. "Execution seems a bit severe for a petty theft, sir."

"She stole what could be thousands of Septims from you, my Thane."

"Can I see my bag, then?"

It was passed to Percy, who opened it to see that everything was still inside. It seemed to be. He quickly tried to think of a way to make this less terrible for everyone involved. "I've an idea, captain. Rather than have her sit in the dungeons, why not put her talents to use?"

"What could you mean?! She is a thief, and her kind are worth nothing."

Percy shrugged. "I disagree. So I've got an idea - now that I've got my stuff back, how about instead of executing her... I'll take her as my prisoner. She can follow me and make herself useful, do whatever I say, and all that. One foot out of line, and I drag her back here for execution." He looked pointedly at the thief. "And she'd of course behave, since this is her last chance."

She nodded and said through gritted teeth, "Yes, of course."


	13. Reformation through Flame

The guards let go of Sparrow, but tied her hands with a short coil of rope. "This man is doing you a great service, thief. Do not sully this opportunity."

Once the guards were out of what Percy guessed was earshot, he cut the binds on her wrists with a knife. "Just so you know, the whole 'prisoner' thing was just for show. That felt weird."

"Aye, it did. I wondered there for a second if you had some sort of weird fetish you were trying to exercise."

Percy only shook his head. "Alright. Here's the deal. You just robbed me, yeah. You clearly have zero morals and you aren't a good person."

"Right on all accounts, aye."

"But you're damn good at what you do, Sparrow. And considering that I just saved your life, I think you owe me quite the debt."

She looked angry, but then realized she was unarmed, unarmored, and guards close by were not-so-subtly listening in. "Well, I... I do owe you... bloody well enough, then. I'm with you."

Percy smiled sarcastically. "Delighted to have you aboard. We're trekking to High Hrothgar first thing tomorrow morning."

"We?"

"Oh, yeah. My Housecarl, Eldawyn. I actually have no idea where she is right now..." Percy shrugged. "Whatever. You'll get along brilliantly with her, I'm sure. Come on, then. Back to the tavern!"

Sparrow followed Percy back out of the rain and into the significantly warmer bar, where the people were still singing their songs with nearly a full night of drinking ahead of them. Percy'd just woken up from a nap, so he counted himself amongst the ones who would be up late. "Right. Well, now I see Eldawyn." He pointed to the maddening Altmer who was laid out on a bench, sound asleep.

"Some top-notch protecting she's doing."

Percy looked at his new comrade sideways. "A solid ninety percent of what comes out of your mouth is sarcasm, I think."

Sparrow shrugged. "'Tis a gift."

The demigod only sighed and went over to wake up the sleeping elf. He poked her in the face several times before she groggily said, "Once more and I'll put out your teeth with a broom-handle."

"So what part of the broom is the handle? The whole thing?" Sparrow asked.

Eldawyn quickly rose to a sitting position and tried focusing her vision on the thief. "Who're you, then?"

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but Sparrow cut him off and said in a quivering, scared voice, "I'm Emerald, Rabbit's concubine for the evening. He promised to pay me an extra Septim if I promised I was at least fifteen."

The elf looked at Percy with alarm. "This is Sparrow, Eldawyn. She thinks herself a comedian, though she's remarkably unfunny. She's a... a rogue. She's joining the squad."

Eldawyn got a good look at the newcomer. "And how'd she get recruited, then? You pay her?"

"No, he bought me as a slave. He's into some weird stuff, and-"

"You're on a roll tonight, aren't you?" Percy reached for his cider and took a sip. "You've mentioned me in a sexual way at least three times in the last few minutes. Sorry to let you down hard... but stop it, I'm not interested."

"Really? Not for anything?"

"No," Eldawyn said, cutting in. She seemed rather amused by the whole exchange. "He's got a proper ball and chain back home. Has him in a vice grip, I'd reckon."

"That's code for 'he likes men'."

"I can confirm that he doesn't. That poor boy Torvar was ever so interested."

Percy was half-listening at this point, but he heard Torvar's name. He saw the man in regular clothes at the bar, looking over the patrons. He decided to leave the girls to their talking and went over to the man.

"Ho there, Percy. That was a good fight," He said.

"I'm not dead or hurt, so I'll agree. You take any shots?"

"I was knocked back into a tree, but nothing too serious, no."

They stood there silently for a second while Torvar continued scouting. "What exactly are you doing, then?"

The Nord shrugged. "It's all a numbers game. If I ask enough men, one of them will be interested eventually, right? Percentages, and whatever else?"

"I guess so."

"Well, I've been turned down six times today thus far. Well, seven, if I include you. If I'm right, the next man I choose will most likely be down for a night. I need to approach this delicately, and not blow it."

"Who's the target?"

He trained his eyes on the prey. "Blond guy with the beard, at the table over there. See him?"

"I do." Percy paused. "I'm gonna make this up to you. Follow my lead."

The demigod led the way to the table, where the man sat alone. "Hello there, sir. Can my friend and I sit?"

"By all means." Torvar and Percy took seats, with the former being closer to the target. "My name's Fralgar. And yours?"

"I'm Percy Jackson."

"Torvar Iron-Foot."

Fralgar looked at the demigod with curiosity. "Percy Jackson... by the Nine, you're the Dragonborn!"

"Yes I am." Percy had a grand plan in his head... he just needed to pull it off. And by the gods, if he did, it would be a bro deed of the ages. "Did you hear that we just encountered a dragon earlier today?"

"You did?! We heard noises from the town, of course, but we were sure it was further off..."

"We'd've been goners if it wasn't for my good friend Torvar here. He's a Companion, you know... one of the select of the whole country. Best training around. So he nails the dragon dead-on and puts him on the ground."

Percy then proceeded to rewrite the entire dragon fight, having the Nord warrior be the hero. For a brief second, Torvar looked a bit flabbergasted, but he pulled himself together and nodded along, adding in parts making himself sound even more badass along the way.

"I've got to go meet some people. I'll see you around, Torvar. You too, Fralgar." He got up, and flashed a look back to Torvar. The Companion was a picture of appreciation. Percy smiled slightly, pleased with himself.

That was the last thing he remembered that night.

* * *

**28th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Noon**

"Get up, Percy. Something's going on outside."

Eldawyn was standing over him, poking him. The Dragonborn groaned and dragged himself out of bed, his head once again on fire. "You're killing me. I can't do this all the time."

"So we've got to build up you tolerance. Give it a few months, you'll be a regular alcoholic."

Percy groggily steadied himself. He could practically hear his liver cry out in protest from it's heavy load. But still he tried to clear his mind. "What's happening outside?"

"Just c'mon."

He pulled on his armor and made sure to grab Riptide before Eldawyn dragged him by the arm out of the tavern. "Where's Sparrow?"

"Already out there. Don't worry, she isn't running off. I had a nice long chat with her last night."

Before Percy could ask what that could possibly meant, he was out in the harsh light of day. After he'd adjusted to it, he could see the picture. Just outside of the Sleeping Giant was sort Riverwood hub - where the townsmen would meet and talk, or where criers would shout decrees from Jarl. Well, a small group of people in orange and black robes were standing on a pedestal - the lead one with red hair, and a clean face with no beard.

The man spoke pure fire. "The dragons are an omen from the Eight! As well as our God-Emperor, Talos! Those who we have forsaken have seen it fit to bring us down a size."

Percy's head pounded. "Malik. That's Malik."

It was the crazy religious dude from his dream - and it had been proven to be a premonition of some kind. Here this man was, preaching to a town. And the town was getting into it.

This Malik character had a great aura around him. Percy knew that charisma had nothing to do with moral fiber - after all, Hitler was one heck of a charismatic leader. But dammit if this guy wasn't charming enough to make a little sense.

"The dragons are dastardly angels of death, unleashed upon us by our vengeful creators. We cannot sit idly by and do nothing while the dragons murder many! And so, we must SUBMIT! Submit to the dragons! Beg for forgiveness at their feet, do their will! Do not fight! Embrace!"

There were scattered boos, but this guy was actually swaying some people. "The EMPIRE cannot protect us! No king, no matter his banner, can protect us! For the only way to survive is through submission. SUBMISSION UNTO TALOS! REFORMATION THROUGH FLAME!"

"This fucker is absolutely crazy," Eldawyn muttered.

"Yeah, but man can he turn a crowd."

A small retinue of soldiers - as well as the Companions, who seemed to be accompanied by another armored warrior - pushed their way through the crowd. "Who's the other man?"

"Another Companion named Skjor. He arrived earlier this morning."

A few of the crowd members tried pushing the guards, but they were remarkably well disciplined. They used their shields to slowly advance forward, being sure to not strike at anyone.

"FORSAKE the Dragonborn, for he is a false hero! A legend, for Talos is the only true Dragonborn! This... IMPOSTOR can offer you no protection! For he is but man, who BURNS like a man does! Who BLEEDS like a man does! Who DIES like a man does!"

Percy simmered as he reached for his sword. But Eldawyn punched him. "Stop! Don't do anything stupid. This a riot waiting to happen."

Skjor led his way onto the pedestal. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Preaching, brute! How dare you-"

And then a stray brick was thrown.

Someone in the crowd threw a simple clay brick, which hit Malik in the leg. Out of anger and confusion, the preacher made a snap decision. He pulled out a blade and stabbed Skjor right through the neck.

Whoever threw that brick would drastically change the course of history, though exactly how wasn't clear to see for a few months. Regardless, that brick swung Percy's entire career.

Aela cried out, "SKJOR! NO!"

Eldawyn grabbed Percy's shoulder. "We need to leave. Now."

"Where's-"

"Right here," came Sparrow's voice.

The crowd began to get violent as Malik seemingly vanished into the large mass of commoners. "YOU KILLED SKJOR! I'LL DESTROY YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"Now. To the horses!"

Percy moved about as fast as he could, as he heard the cries of anger get louder. He could feel and hear his dragon soul protest about running away, but Percy was working on his Poseidon-inherited battle strategy. The Companions were kind of assholes (though Torvar totally owed Percy a favor), and if they were as good as they said they were, it shouldn't be an issue.

His horse was stabled behind the inn. He belated realized that there were two animals for three people, but Sparrow climbed up with Eldawyn without any discussion. Thank the gods they'd bought provisions the night before. Percy kicked his horse into action, and the trio rode south. Riverwood faded away into the distance, along with frenzied cries. One stuck in his mind:

Reformation Through Flame.

* * *

After a few hours of plodding along the same route, Percy finally spoke. "Well that situation was terrible."

"Aye," Sparrow simply said. "Crowds are only useful to thieves if they aren't violent."

"Well, that and the super important Companion guy got stabbed," Percy added. "Aela doesn't strike me as a person who would let that go without Malik's head on a pike."

"Malik?"

"The speaker," Percy said, before trying to figure out how to put the next bit. "I saw him in a dream."

Eldawyn looked surprised. "A premonition, like?"

"Yeah, I guess so. He's a refugee from Helgen. Well... I was there too. And Sparrow. I can understand how someone might end up revering the dragons after what happened there."

Eldawyn shrugged. "This Malik character can do whatever he wants, really. In terms of religion, anyway. The Imperial Parliament passed the Tolerance Act earlier in the year. Made all religions that didn't involve Talos free to all who wants to worship."

"The Imperial Parliament?" Percy asked, confused. "Wait... there's, like... democracy? And stuff?"

The Altmer gave him a strange look. "Not a man for politics, eh? Well, a history lesson for you, then. Way back when the Empire was strong, the Emperor had an Elder Council. It was made up of all the Jarls and Counts and Dukes and Marquesses and Viscounts and Graafs and -"

"I think he understands," Sparrow cut in dryly.

"Right. Anyway, the Emperor didn't have to actually listen to his council - he rarely summoned it, and when it was summoned it was for very important stuff. But after the Great War, the Emperor was weak. The Elder Council showed up in a united front and demanded more rights, or an outright rebellion."

Percy strained his mind all the way back to, like, tenth grade world history class. Something that had happened England was similar to that, he just couldn't remember what it was. "Alright. And?"

"So the Emperor capitulated. The Elder Council re-brand themselves the Imperial Parliament, and decide to send elected delegates to the meetings rather than go themselves. The new Parliament drew up a constitution, and now the Emperor can barely take a piss without asking for permission." Eldawyn took a long drink. "And now you're an expert on high Imperial politics. Bloody Oblivion that was boring."

It would be hard to argue that it wasn't horrifically boring, if Percy was honest. He stretched and then yawned, still feeling the headache. "So they weren't breaking an laws by preaching, then?"

"No. Perfectly legal, technically."

"I'm fascinated by this discussion. Truly, I am." Sparrow's love of being spectacularly unfunny knew no bounds, it seemed. "But perhaps onto more prudent things? Where exactly are we headed, and how long will this take?

"We're looping back around to Helgen, so we just need to retrace our steps back."

"But then it gets messy from there on." Eldawyn did her best to turn her head around to actually look at Sparrow before giving up. "Three days' travel across Filheim Pass. It's mountainous and snowy. I used it once when..." she paused, and under her hood Percy could see her face go gaunt. She shivered and wiped rain from sleeves. "That's not important. It's a treacherous path, but also the fastest. In this weather, I don't fancy traveling across it."

"There's a problem with that route, Elda," Sparrow said.

"Oh?"

"I've no winter gear." The thief gestured at herself, and Percy saw that she was right. She wore her black armor and a thin cloak, but that was it. "That trip will be near impossible for me."

"We could always turn back for Riverwood," Percy mused.

"I'd not risk it. The soldiers will be tense. Remember, those aren't the Jarl's men - they're Graaf Hrongar's men. Not as professional. They'd most likely shut off the city or arrest anyone trying to get in by other means."

"Bugger..." Sparrow muttered. "Well... we could try Helgen..."

Percy thought about that for a second. The keep was still in decent condition... "It's worth a look. The place isn't still on fire, obviously, because of the rain. It'll be..."

"...Gruesome?" Eldawyn offered.

"To put it mildly. Rabbit and I were there and saw the destruction firsthand. I don't fancy seeing it a second it."

Eldawyn looked back at Sparrow. "So what's with the 'Rabbit' thing? I'm confused."

"I've no idea. You'd have to ask the criminal here."

Sparrow only shrugged, before realizing that Eldawyn could, of course, not see that. "The name popped into my head when I first saw him. At first, he didn't say much. Maybe he's outgrown the title. 'Rabbitborn', perhaps?"

Percy groaned. "Please shut up. We've a long ride ahead of us."

* * *

**Short Author's Note: Sorry for the Imperial Parliament plot dump, I just wanted to get it out there. Also, sorry for the long time between updates. Stuff happened. BLOOD OF OLYMPUS ON TUESDAY THOUGH. Get hype.**


	14. Interlude One: The Moth

**This is the first interlude, intermission, chapter break, WHATEVER. Every time I plan on taking a long(ish) break or want to just break up the parts of each story that are different tonally. Consider this small offering the end of Chapter One, if you will. And so, I leave you with this.**

* * *

**30th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**After Sundown**

It was Percy's turn to take first watch.

Given the relentless rain, he took guard from the safety of his own tent. They were an hour from Helgen; Percy had decided to wait until day to enter the city's ruins, hoping that would scare off bandits or raiders or who knew what else.

The Dragonborn was squinting down at a map of Skyrim, with light being given off by a candle some distance away from him. His studying was doing him no good and it was accomplishing nothing; they knew the route as well they ever could.

And then a moth flew into the candle.

Perhaps Percy had really been staring at the light source the whole time, or maybe he'd seen a shadow flit across his page and looked up; at any rate, he saw it all. A golden moth, a biggish one with a two inch wingspan, flapped right into the fire. The bottom of her abdomen stuck right in the wax, and she burnt in about a second.

Her moving wings ignited like tissue paper, causing the light to magnify a bit. The green of the surrounding grass and the red of a nearby tree were illuminated. In a second, this extra light was gone and the wings vanished in a fine smoke. At the same time her six legs clawed, curled, blackened, and disappeared utterly. And her head jerked in spasms, making a spattering noise; it all burnt away, with her mouth crackling like gunfire. When it was all over, her head was gone, gone the way of her wings and legs. All that remained was the glowing shell of her abdomen and thorax - a partially collapsed gold tube in the candle's pool.

And then her skeleton began its new life as a second wick. She kept burning. The wax rose in the moth's body from her abdomen to her thorax to the jagged hole where her head should be, and widened into a flame. The whole body was robed in fire, like an immolating priest. And the candle had two wicks of equal height and brightness.

She burned for a long time. Perhaps it had been hours... without changing, without bending or leaning, until Percy finally blew out the magnificent second flame. He supposed he'd stared at it the whole time.

He wondered if human's burned similarly. He could see it: perhaps the person's hair or clothes would catch first, like the moth's wings. They'd both disappear quickly, regardless. The issue was that she'd had an exoskeleton to keep the flame burning, while the human would just burn. Though he supposed the limbs would blacken as its hands clawed at the fire, fingers scrabbling desperately. He supposed that the mouth would cry out in pain and agony, just like the moth's had.

He wondered if the dragons saw humans that way. Little annoyances that lit up the world a bit each time one of them caught fire. More wicks.

Percy realized that his dragon soul was warming up, practically vibrating. _Mmmm... you're dovah as well. The humans mean nothing. You are meant to dominate._

He tried really hard to ignore that as he watched the lump of wax that once was the body of a beautiful moth fall sideways into the pool.


	15. The Strong and Devout Fatherland

**Before we get going: the song in this chapter is set to an old German song called "Die Wacht am Rhein". I'd recommend listening to that A) Because it's an excellent song and B) Because the text in this chapter doesn't really do it justice.**

**And yes, before you review about it, I DO obsess over national anthems. They're my thing.**

* * *

**31st of Last Seed, Year 201**

**Morning**

"Let's get going, oh legendary hero of yore."

Percy groaned as he mumbled to Eldawyn that yes he was awake, yes he wouldn't go back asleep, yes he'd get dressed himself. He slipped into the boiled leather that fit him rather well; it was quite insulating, and obviously designed to be so.

He stepped out into the morning to see the constant rain pounding down. He'd noticed that the weather was getting more and more intense as they traveled onwards. By now, all soil was a thick paste. Their spot in the woods was no exception.

Eldawyn handed him a bit of buttered bread and a flask. He had a quick nip from the flask, just enough to wake him up. Whiskey. He coughed, before eating the hard bread as quickly as possibly. It was not the best tasting thing in the world. It seemed to stick in his stomach like a rock.

"Where's the comedian?"

"She's off taking a piss."

"Charming."

Percy stretched down to pick up Riptide. He pulled it out of the hilt and examined the blade. It no longer glowed - perhaps a sign that it now affected mortals. Regardless, it reminded him of his past. About the idea that he might be here for while.

He put away the sword.

"Right. Now-"

And that was when he heard the singing begin.

_"The cry resounds like thunder's clash,  
Like ratt-ling swords and waves that crash!  
__FOR THE NINE! THE NINE! FOR LANDS DIVINE!  
__We'll guard our country, hold our line!_

_Dear Fatherland, please have no fear,  
DEAR FATHERLAND, PLEASE HAVE NO FEAR!  
_

_Ulfric's watch is for'er revered!  
OUR GUARD STANDS HEEEEEEERE!  
_Ulfric's watch is for'er revered!  
OUR GUARD STANDS HERE!"  
__

"Stormcloaks! Shit!"

Eldawyn dove behind a tree, and Percy did the same with a nearby one. He risked peeking his head around.

A column of fifty or so men were marching north. They marched rigidly in their chainmail armor with blue cloth draped over. They all wore full-faced helmet with a Pickelhaube-style spike on top. The lead man bore a flag. It had three horizontal bars, similar to the flags of Germany or Austria. The top bar was a bright green; middle was white; bottom bar was dark blue. The emblem of a bear's head was emblazoned in the top left of the banner.

"What-"

"Shh!"

The troops stopped. "Did you hear that, commander?"

"No, Ralgar. None of your foolishness, we are fighting against the clock. Now, onwards. We need to sweep everything south of the wall! FORWARDS, MEN!"

And the Stormcloaks burst into another march, and began another lyric of their super catchy song.

_"A hundred thousand hearts beat fast,  
The eyes of all of them are cast,  
THE SONS OF SKYRIM, DEVOUT AND STRONG!  
Protect you, as we have so long!"_

Eldawyn whispered, "Another twenty seconds or so, then they'll be out of earshot. Then we move quickly, quietly. Pack the tent fast. Sparrow should be here soon - if she has any sense, she'll wait."

The Nords' voices faded and Eldawyn said, "Go!"

Percy ran around his tree and began to quickly disassemble his tent. "So what was that?! Are they invading or something?"

"No, most likely a raiding party they marched through the mountains. They probably looted Helgen, maybe garrisoned the ruins."

"Excellent." Percy finished wrapping up his tent. He found himself humming the Stormcloak tune. "The song is catchy."

"Aye. It's quite the running joke back in Whiterun's court that the most noble thing about the revolution is Ulfric's anthem. The Imperial anthem is dreadful."

The demigod wordlessly packed the rest of the supplies together. He went to go get the horses (tied up a little walk away), and then got everything packed up. When he returned, Sparrow was back, talking quickly to Eldawyn. Those two had become fast friends. "-managed to get away."

"What's happened?" Percy asked, climbing up onto his horse.

"The Stormcloaks found me just after I finished my business. They asked some questions, I told them I was wanted in most Imperial provinces across Cyrodiil and certain parts of Morrowind. They let me go."

"It was rather hospitable of them," Eldawyn noted, mounted her horse. Sparrow climbed up behind her. "If Sparrow were an elf, she'd be taken as prisoner."

"Excellent to know that we've a ticking bomb traveling with us."

"A what?"

"Nothing. A saying from home."

And the two road hard to the south, Percy tuned out and stopped listening to Sparrow and Eldawyn's chatter. At some point, the rain turned into a light snow, and Percy was clutching his cloak around him tightly to preserve warmth.

He finally saw the walls appear on the horizon. "Well, Percy? What would you do?"

"Whaa?"

"How many septims would it take for you to crap your own pants in front of a teenage girl?"

Percy stared at the Altmer. "What the hell were you two talking about the whole time?! Actually, don't answer that, I really don't want to know. You guys are the worst. The scum of the world."

"Sounds about right, to be frank."

The demigod only shivered and shook his head. "Let's not dwell on what I was just asked. I don't see any Stormcloaks, but I really don't want to ask anything. I'll do the talking. Elda, pull up your hood. Try not to make it abundantly clear that you're and elf, and thus not a part of their weird ethnic-cleansing-thing."

"I value my own head, Percy. You needn't tell me."

"Nor do you need to tell me, Rabbit."

Percy nodded, appreciating that his comrades knew when to turn it off. "If there aren't any Stormcloaks... then hey, we're in luck. We find Sparrow some alpine gear, and we're on our way."

They approached the ruined fort slowly. Percy could see that the stone ramparts were covered in black soot, but they still stood. "The Imperials can build some nice walls," Sparrow said, in what seemed like a half-serious compliment.

As they approached the main entrance to the ruined town, however, two archers with pointed helmets peered over the gate, arrows drawn. "You have five seconds to run or we'll shoot and alert our officer."

Percy raised is hands. "Sorry, man. We're pilgrims, on the road to High Hrothgar. One of my friends here doesn't have a coat, and she likes not freezing to death."

This gave the speaker pause. He gestured up with his bow. "You'll not be heading up there. There's a storm around High Hrothgar that can't be natural."

The son of Poseidon looked up and nearly fell off his horse. Swirling around near the summit of the Throat of the World was an easy to spot blizzard. "And besides, the Dragonborn is expected to appear in front of the Greybeards soon. It's the cause of this weather we're having."

"I am the Dragonborn."

The two Stormcloaks looked at each other through their eye-slits. "Prove it."

Percy shrugged. He looked straight up in the air and shouted, "FUS!" The wave of blue energy rolled into the snowing sky, pushing snowflakes out of the way.

The speaker was so excited that he dropped his bow. "By Talos... I'm opening the gate! You are welcome, Dragonborn!"

"Impressive," Sparrow commented.

Percy shrugged. "It feels sleazy to me, but you need a coat."

She wasn't shivering or anything, however. That was weird to him.

The trio were escorted into the Helgen ruins by a few soldiers. A very small tent complex - twenty or thirty at most - had been sent up in the ruins. Rubble - and presumably bodies - had been cleared out of the way in order to make room for the encampment.

Some of the soldiers were busy shoveling away snow or stray debris, some rested and talked. Maids were cooking food. Wailing could be heard from the wounded tent. Your general "forward camp" fair - a small base to stage raids from.

"This way, Dragonborn. Our captain will be interested to speak with you."

Sparrow shifted in an uncomfortable fashion. He wasn't sure why she did so, but he hoped she didn't make a scene. Percy was the exalted guest here; his party was only allowed on courtesy. Time to go talk to this captain and see what he could do.

They stopped at an unassuming tent - maybe a little more roomy than the others, but not great. "Captain? We've visitors."

The man stepped out of his tent. He was rather muscular, though young; mid twenties, if Percy had to guess. He wore mostly unmodified Stormcloak armor, although with bear claw adornments on the pauldrons and the gauntlets. His colored sash was a lighter blue than the other uniforms. Around his neck was a golden chain that bore a simple cross pattern, with the "-" part of the cross looking like a double-bladed axe and the "l" part of the cross a sword.

The captain looked over the three travelers, now on foot. "Well then?"

Percy cleared his throat. He didn't usually like to do the talking, but he kind of had to. "My name's Percy Jackson. Dragonborn. I was summoned to High Hrothgar."

The imposing man only nodded. "Aye. I heard the summons; everyone did." His voice was quiet and kind of reedy... not really what Percy was expecting.

"Well, uh, my friend here isn't properly equipped for the journey across the mountain pass. We were hoping that Helgen would be abandoned and we could pick through its ruins for gear. But, uh..."

The captain nodded slowly. "And we beat you to it."

"Uhh... yeah."

The Nord sighed. "Can I trust that you won't take anything you see or hear back to the Imperials, the Thalmor, or Whiterun?"

Percy nodded slowly. "That seems fair."

"Follow me, then. Oh, and young she-elf, I _do _know you're an Altmer. But you needn't hide it, for I have no such prejudices."

Eldawyn slowly pulled down her hood to reveal her bewildered face. "How did you-"

"It doesn't matter. Stay with me, and you won't be jeered."

The mystery man set his walk at a brisk pace. "Anton, Annika, and Fritjof, go to the morgue. Take Greyfoot's coat."

There was a chorus of "yes, sir"s as the captain swept the small camp. "We're low on supplies as it is. Helgen's a damned crematory, not a gold mine like my father thought. I'm going to need to be compensated - both gold, and a favor."

Percy frowned slightly. "Money's not a problem. What kind of favor?"

The burly young man stopped and leaned against a mostly broken stone wall. "Here's the deal. When you can, I want you to go north, to Windhelm. I want you to speak with the Jarl there - or, the Zealous and Rightful King of Skyrim, as he's styling himself as now. He'll likely try to convince you to join rank with us. The Dragonborn would be a fine prize for him to poach and parade about."

He looked pointedly at his companions. "None of you are Nords, I know. And Jarl Ulfric III does speak a message of hatred and racism. But the Jarls now are old; most were fresh-faced in the Great War. The next generation of rulers is not so close-minded. They've spent their time listening to the liberals of Windhelm and Solitude talk about republicanism and democracy. An independent Skyrim could create such a revolutionary state, and you would be instrumental in its birth."

A Stormcloak came running up with a tattered coat. "There we are." Sparrow slipped on the coat and pulled it around herself. "Much better."

Percy handed over a few silver coins. "I'll consider your request, mister...?"

The captain smiled slightly and extended his arm to receive the money. He then gripped Percy's forearm in a show of companionship. "I'm Ulfric the Younger, Prince-Elect to the Jarldom of the Eastern Marches and the Kingdom of Skyrim. Perhaps we will meet again one day."

Not really knowing what else to say and a little shell-shocked, Percy only nodded and spurred his horse out of Helgen.

The three set out on their journey eastward, into the snow and wind.

"I didn't like him," Eldawyn finally said. "The Prince-Elect, I mean."

Percy shrugged. "He's not the nicest guy, sure, but I think he means well. He seemed pretty excited about those liberals."

"He's an idealist, and idealists are always weak. A pragmatic despot is far more effective than the ideological crusader." Eldawyn tightened her gloves. "He seems like a nice man. Smart, too. But not wise. There's a wide difference."

"That, I do know." He was marrying the daughter of wisdom; she often ranted on similar philosophical subjects that made his mind spin. "But you're right."

"And what about his request, then? I'd so no." Sparrow had been rather quiet thus far.

"I'm not sure. If we find ourselves in the neighborhood I suppose it wouldn't hurt to swing by."

Eldawyn shook her head. "That's a bad idea."

Percy set his jaw. "Alright, I've been out-voted. Democracy and stuff. Like what our friend back in Helgen said."

* * *

**1st of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era  
**

**Just past midnight**

The legendary Dragonborn woke up with the urge to pee.

He groggily put on his boots and his coat, shivering. The small cave they's ducked into wasn't very warm, and the fire was running low. He just needed to stumble outside, find a nice bush, and get back to the relative warmth of his sleeping bag.

As he looked at the campsite, he noticed something that struck his groggy brain - Sparrow's tent was empty.

He heaved a loud sigh and practically heard his bladder whimper as he decided to go and find her.

Percy left the cave to see that the snow had subsided, but only slightly. He could see a decent ways along the path in either direction, but no signs of Sparrow. He decided to trudge along forward and keep a hold of the rock on his left side so he wouldn't get lost.

He heard the crunching of snow of footsteps up ahead. He stopped walking, but continued to hear it. It sounded pretty far away, but there was no way he could be sure. He swore under his breath as he realized he didn't have Riptide with him; the sheath was back at camp.

He continued to creep forward, seeing a faint torch light. As he got closer, he realized what it was. A small clearing to the right of the road was being used as a sort of camp. Bandits or raiders, it looked like. One was watching patrol, so Percy dove behind a fallen rock. He peeked over slightly. This would be tricky.

An arrow flew in just as he was contemplating how to handle the situation.

Percy could clearly see that it was one of Sparrow's knock-out needle arrows due to their strange shape. She dashed in from Percy's left, not seeing the hidden demigod. She muttered something to herself as she went straight for the man's unconscious corpse.

She then bent over and... was she kissing him?!

Sparrow was crouched over him and seemed to be going at his neck. Percy knew some people were into doing... _this. _His general philosophy about weird sex things was that he didn't mind it as long as no one was getting hurt.

Clearly, however, this guard dude was not doing too well.

And so Percy stepped cautiously. "Uhh, Sparrow? What are you doing?"

She didn't turn.

He took a few steps forward and placed her hand on her shoulder. "What's going-"

She turned and Percy took a really big step back.

The thief's eyes were now a glowing red, sickening and ghoulish. Blood dribbled from her chin. Her open mouth showed that she had two long fangs.

_Well. Fuck me._

"Uhh..."

The woman lunged on Percy, putting him on his back. He was stronger than her - or so he thought. She was putting up a really good fight - punching and clawing and trying to bite. "SPARROW, IT'S ME! IT'S ME!"

After around ten seconds, Sparrow began to slowly weaken. Percy forced his way back to his feet and pushed the woman up against the wall of rock. She struggled for only a few more seconds before something peculiar happened. Her eyes were no longer blood-red; they were more of lighter reddish-orange.

She looked Percy in the eyes with confusion first and then horror. "Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no."

"What was that?!"

Sparrow wiped the blood off of her chin, as if hoping Percy somehow hadn't noticed it. "Just let me go. Leave me. You and Elda don't need me." She sounded on the verge of tears, which was remarkably out of character."

"You didn't answer me, Sparrow. What just -"

"I. Am. A. FUCKING. VAMPIRE, YOU IDIOT!"

Percy's stomach churned. Of course vampires were a thing here; this world had everything. He'd dealt with _empousai _before, but Sparrow was clearly something out of a fantasy novel rather than Greek mythology. He doubted she was hiding a bronze leg.

The demigod took a deep breath and asked calmly, "Were you planning on eating Eldawyn and me someday?"

She shook her head. "No. No! I would _never _do that. Vampires don't eat flesh. Well, some do. I don't care for it personally."

Percy pushed her harder against the wall. "This isn't a goddamn joke, Sparrow. Were you going to... going to _feed _off of me or her?"

"No! There's always bandits or other assholes around that deserve to have a pint or two taken."

The demigod only glared at her.

"Well, I couldn't exactly have told you or Elda about... this!"

Percy thought about that for a second, pushing her harder against the rock. "So what happens now, then?"

She retracted her fangs by simply closing her eyes for a split second. A swirl of red magic appeared in her left hand, and her eyes were no longer that glowing that soft orange. They were once again normal. "You let me go, and I sod off to Hammerfall or something like that and start anew."

"No."

"And what do you mean, 'no'?"

"You owe me. You'd be sitting in Whiterun's dungeon if it wasn't for me, Cathrien."

_"Don't call me tha-"_

"I also saved your ass back in the Helgen caves with that spider venom. And you've repaid me by mugging me back in Riverwood, hiding this from me...!"

Sparrow's eyes showed fear. The dragon inside Percy purred.

_"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you!"_

Percy's voice wasn't... normal. It sounded as though a second, deeper voice was repeating him just a few milliseconds later than his force.

_Cut her from naval to chin, _this voice commanded.

Percy's head seared as his gut seemed to burst into flame as he lifted the thief up off the ground and into the air, holding her with the collar of her shirt. _**"Ofan zey gein dahriin fahvos nan zey fend, hei joor!"**_

He felt and heard the words, but didn't know where they came from or what they meant. He was only half in control; he could feel the dragon bursting free.

"Rabbit, stop it! STOP IT!"

Sparrow managed a huge punch to Percy's stomach, which caused him to retch and drop her onto the snowy ground. He collapsed to the ground himself, slowly beginning to feel in control again. He threw up his dinner.

He stumbled to his feet to see that Sparrow had her bow drawn, nocked, and pointed right at him. "You have the nerve to call me a monster? You can't control yourself either."

"No... that's... not..." Percy took a deep breath. "Look. Just don't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it, and I couldn't care less whoever or whatever you are. Neither of us are human, or mortal, or whatever."

Sparrow was still pointed her bow at him, shaking slightly. She really seemed disturbed by Percy's sudden outburst... and the more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him as well. "You'll _not _tell Elda about me." She demanded.

"It's gonna happen eventually! Why do you care, anyway?"

"I don't like people to know! Just... just don't tell her, and I'll stay with you. You're... you're right, Percy. I owe you."

Percy nodded slowly. "Swear on the River St-" He stopped himself, realizing how strange that would've sounded to her. "Promise me you won't leave us in the middle of the night."

"Sure, I promise. Someone has to keep Elda in line."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take a piss."

* * *

**Please note that if I use the word "liberal" in this story, I'm not referring to the views of, for instance, the Liberal Democrats in the UK or the Democratic Party in America. I'm referring to the French Revolution and the Revolutions of 1848 version of the word - basically someone who is against the Old Regime of monarchs and kings and emperors and shit and in favor parliaments and assemblies and Robespierre and the Republic of Virtue stuff like that. Just thought I'd clear up any confusion.**

**Due to the snow storm that is currently pummeling my area, snow days are bound to occur many times for me in the near future. This is good for rate of which these are done; when I can peel myself away from Far Cry 4 I'll try to write this.**

**Also, I'm quite amused that many of you mistook my gender. Not upset or mad or anything, just kinda surprised.**


	16. Filheim Pass

**1st of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Noon**

"So you can just hang around in the sun without being hurt, then? That's not very vampire-y."

Sparrow only groaned at Percy's question. They were out on a "patrol" together while Eldawyn was busy doing... something. She hadn't explained what, exactly, but she wanted to be left alone. Percy jumped at the opportunity, since he had quite a few questions for his companion.

They were currently under an overhang, taking shelter from the white-out blizzard conditions. The snow wasn't accumulating much, as it often didn't in blizzard conditions. Snow was falling, but was simultaneously being blown around by the strong winds. The party was basically traveling blind. Thank god for fires and for the bread they carried, which seemingly never went bad.

The thief touched her hood. "Have you ever seen me without a hood, Rabbit? During the day, I mean?"

"Uhh..." Percy had to think about that. "I'm going to cautiously say 'no.'"

"Exactly. When it's sunny out - which it hasn't been for a week, thanks to you being Dragonborn and all that - I can't take risks. The sun saps at my strength. That's why I was so out of sorts at the execution. Otherwise, I could've escaped from those Imperials with no effort."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Shut up."

Percy rubbed his gloved hands together. He sat criss-cross applesauce under the ledge, as did Sparrow. The torch she held provided a modest amount of warmth. "I notice you never shiver or really seem cold. Is there a vampire reason for that?"

"Aye. I don't feel cold like you do, I suppose. It tingles a bit, but not in a bad way... hmm... more like the feeling you get when you strum a lute and hold it, I suppose."

"So we didn't need to get you a coat."

Sparrow shrugged. "Correct. But I must keep up my ruse. Like the spell that makes my eyes human."

Percy facepalmed before looking at her with real annoyance. "We marched right into a place where we could've died all because you didn't want us to know you were a vampire?"

"...Yes?"

The demigod shook his head and felt himself get angry again before taking a few deep breaths. "Rabbit, most people tend to not like vampires very much. Maybe it's the glowing eyes or the consumption of blood, I don't know which. Elda might have some long-standing issues with vampires for all I know."

"I don't think she's petty like that."

"How well do you know her? It's not been too long."

"I... guess... not that well, but someone who chugs wine indiscriminately and is as crude as her probably is cool with just about anyone."

Sparrow turned the torch in her hands, staring into the flame. "I never made friends with the other girls in the castle back at Skingrad. I suppose keeping the friendship going with Elda would be 'good' for me."

Percy decided to go for the obvious bait. He liked knowing stuff about people he fought alongside; it was almost never useless. "So were you always a vampire? Or... what, exactly?"

The thief took a deep breath and scratched at some snow with a stick. "My family - House Hassildor - does not like vampires. Two hundred years ago, Count Janus was affected by the disease... you can catch it through blood magic or through bites, if the biter intentionally injects the poison."

"Uhh... okay." Everything she said had made sense to him thus far.

Sparrow shivered (not of cold, but of fear) and pulled out a flask. "Gonna need a nip to get through this story."

Percy shrugged. "By all means."

The vampire took a quick sip before something quite pertinent shot through Percy's mind. "That's not blood, is it?"

She snorted. "No. It, uh... it loses freshness and taste the longer you let it sit around. No, this is Brumese whisky. Still works on a vampire."

"So how does your body... handle regular food and drink?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not well. But we do what we must in order to get drunk." She took a deep breath and passed the torch to Percy. "Right. So... I was the youngest daughter of my father, who was a nobleman. Raised on fine food and dresses and all that. I loved it when I was young." She took another drink.

"Hey, do you... uh... wanna slow down with the whisky?" Percy asked cautiously.

"No, I do not." She coughed. "Right. So when I was... twenty, I made friends with this noble boy from some minor house. He often spoke of his own group of friends and that he wanted me to meet them. And... me being a _stupid little girl, _I trusted him." More drinking as she stared out at the snow. "They were a branch of the Coven of the Sacred Chalice... they were young vampires, trying to infiltrate the First Families of Cyrodiil."

"What's that? The Coven of the Sacred Chalice, I mean."

Sparrow continued to drink until her flask went dry. "Bugger..." she threw it on the ground in discuss. "They're this ancient secret vampire group in Cyrodiil. Mass mortal harvestings, hooded meetings. So this boy took me to the meeting and they tied me up to a pole..." she took a deep breath. "They cut me open on my back. Made the cuts in strange patterns, harvesting the blood in some sort of ritual. They kept me alive with healing spells." Her eye twitched, and suddenly they were orange again. "They... bit me... turned me into one of them. They were going to summon Molag Bal and -"

"You don't have to go any further."

"No!" She shook her head vigorously. "Then... a woman broke into our cave, slaughtered all of the vampires and cut me down. She was the Hero of Kvatch." The way she said it, Percy felt like it was someone he was supposed to know. He said nothing. "I was confused, as I thought she'd retired after the Oblivion Crisis ended. No. She patched me up and took me back to Skingrad."

"And?"

"Remember what I said about Janus being a vampire? He died - offed himself, the story goes, though perhaps he was murdered - with no heirs, and his brother took the throne - a dark-hearted man named Naerellius. He hated vampirism for corrupting his brother."

"Wait, hold on. I thought you said Janus was Count, like, 200 years ago."

"He was. I'm two hundred years old. Naerellius was my father."

Percy was taken aback. He guessed that vampires didn't really age. He looked at her with narrow eyes. "Uh, you don't look a day over one hundred."

"Ha-ha. So... Naerellius threw me out of the castle, exiled me, saying I was no daughter of his. I started thieving. Recently, the current Count of Skingrad caught me and neraly almost executed me before I got away. He fabricated the story that I was his bastard daughter and put out a bounty."

Percy nodded slowly. "So did he know that you were his great-times-a-million... grandmother? Or maybe aunt? Or maybe just a distant cousin?"

"Aye. I'm a bit of a legend in Skingrad. I often heard grandparents telling their that they should behave, lest the 'Indigo Daughter' eat them at night."

Percy had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughter. "Indigo Daughter" sounded like a 90s punk band. "Right, so we're traveling with a two hundred year-old vampire. I should stay on my best behavior or she might eat me."

"True. I must keep up my reputation, of course." Sparrow said with a slight smile. Percy really did have a hard time figuring her out. She bounced from Incredibly-Sarcastic-Joker-Woman to Super-Serious-Dark-Past-Woman seemingly at random. "So what about you then? Your story?"

Percy thought about it for a second. "So I started doing the whole stabbing thing when I was twelve, and I've been doing it ever sense. There's not much more to it, really."

"Well, you're quite good, so there must be more to it."

The son of Poseidon closed his eyes. Quick thinking wasn't his strongest skill. "Umm... I had an excellent teacher back home. Back in Daggerfall." Yes. That was the place Quaranir had instructed him to say he was from. "Me and a whole bunch of other kids. We were trained since we were young."

She nodded slowly. "And where're they now?"

Percy hesitated. "Most of them are back home, probably. A few of them might be... around. Doing stuff. Hopefully living actually lives and not stabbing people."

That was actually a super depressing thought. He'd done a poor job of keeping tabs on the people who had left camp. He figured most of them went into the military or became mercs or something. Percy still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Probably not good that he still had no idea.

"So yeah. I hate to disappoint, but I've not much to say." Percy didn't like to lie - especially after Sparrow had put out all of her past without shame - but there was truly nothing he could say.

"Where'd you get that sword, then? You steal it?"

Percy shook his head adamantly. "You already asked me if I stole it back in Helgen. No, I did not. It was a gift from my trainer."

"So you're rich? You could afford a trainer, and one who could provide expensive gifts to boot."

"No, I..." The Dragonborn was speechless. "I was important. But no deeper than that, okay? That's where I draw the line."

And he felt terrible for lying to her. He slid out from under the overhang and into the open air. "Geez, this storm is ridiculous." The demigod had a hard time seeing five feet in front of him, due to the whiteout conditions. The party was moving slower than they should've under better conditions. "It's so damn cold."

"I'm fine."

"Shut up."

* * *

**3rd of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Almost Nightfall**

"What's more fun... hmm... a mudcrab... or folding laundry?"

Percy thought about that. He'd seen a mudcrab on his trip to from Whiterun to Riverwood, and they were super gross and disgusting. But folding laundry also sucked. It was a tough choice, to be sure. "I'm gonna go with the laundry, Elda."

"Me too."

"Gah, you two are crazy. Mudcrabs are probably great at parties."

The journey through the snow had been slow and boring. They ended up ditching the horses (poor things) and were trudging on foot using snowshoes that Balgruuf had wisely packed. Four pairs had been provided, and so Sparrow had some as well. The blizzard continued to try and pound them into mush, but fire spells from Eldawyn managed to keep the snow drifts low before them. Percy wondered if he could have her teach him how to do that, but decided to wait until they were at least in Ivarstead.

With about ten metres of visibility forwards, they shuffled along at a slow pace. They invented the incredibly simple game that they called "What's More Fun?", which actually proved to be hours of entertainment, something that Percy didn't expect.

"How much longer, do you suppose?"

Eldawyn shivered. "A day, maybe less? We are not taking the mountain pass next time. We're going through the Shearpoint Gap, I don't care if we need to cross into Stormcloak territory to do it."

"Agreed." Percy burrowed deeper into his warm coat. "So... what's more fun, Prince Ulfric... or soup that is too hot?"

* * *

**4th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Late Evening**

"Bloody hell, is that it?! Finally?"

Percy squinted through the snow. "It looks like a town to me. Let's go."

They'd emerged from the mountain pass earlier that day to find that the snow hadn't relented one bit. Traveling blind on what they assumed to be a road, it seemed as though the party had finally reached Ivarstead. Now they just had to get up the freaking mountain.

Percy led them towards the town, which was even smaller than Helgen. Old, rotting buildings were strewn around outside the wooden defensive palisades, clearly long-since abandoned, the town having shrunken over the years. The weak defenses weren't being guarded. "Huh. That's pretty weird."

The gate was locked shut, with an oversized iron lock binding it shut. A wooden tablet nailed to the gate said:

**IVARSTEAD IS TO BE EVACUATED  
****NO EXCEPTIONS**

**KING SIDDGEIR OF THE FALKREATHEAN HEGEMONY**

"Wonderful," Sparrow said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "We at least won't have people getting in our way."

"Why would they evacuate? I don't understand," Percy said, feeling slow.

Eldawyn stared at the tablet for a few seconds before sighing. "Can you pick the lock, Sparrow?"

"Aye, I think so."

"Good." While the thief pulled out her equipment, Eldawyn turned to Percy. "Probably evacuated because of the weather. This is so close to the mountain that it was probably pounded with rain before it began to snow."

"Hopefully everyone got out okay..." Percy adjusted his coat, trying to retain as much heat as possible. "If we need supplies, we're going to leave money, right?"

Neither of his companions responded, which loaded the air with a tension Percy could cut with celestial bronze. Mercifully, the lock clinked open. "Alright. We're going to have to push and hold it open a crack, Percy, so Elda can melt us a path."

"Uh, why?"

Sparrow sighed and rolled her eyes. "Because the snow inside the town hasn't been able to drift like it has outside the palisades. With luck, it'll only be a foot or so and opening the gate won't be too hard."

"Ah. I feel dumb now."

The two managed to give Eldawyn enough space to begin melting the snow, until they were casually strolling along the main street, with a watery path in their way. The buildings themselves were wooden, and were buried under two feet of snow. A few small houses seemed to be caved in.

Sparrow shivered, and it wasn't on account of the cold. "This is bloody creepy."

Percy nodded. The ghost town looked like it had been evacuated quickly, with some doors or windows open. Snow crept in everywhere, filling every crevice it could find its way into. He half expected zombies - or draugr, he supposed - to pop out and scare them.

"Right. Bloody creepy, indeed." Eldawyn brought them to what seemed to be a town square. "Vilemyr Inn, there. In we go."

"Heh. 'In we go.' You said 'inn' right before that."

Sparrow hit him in the shoulder. "You're the worst."

The three travelers set up shop in the vacant inn, with Percy setting up a fire in the fire using dry firewood they found behind the counter and some fire magic. Sparrow said she'd go salvage what she could from the other buildings without cleaning the village out, while Eldawyn attempted to make food. She scavenged some more-or-less fresh vegetables and was attempting to make some sort of soup in a pot over the fire. Good for her, Percy thought.

"What do you make of Sparrow, Percy?" The Altmer asked, while he plopped a full carrot into the pot.

"Uh, you're supposed to cut that up first, I think."

"Oh, right. I forgot you were a master chef, my bad. Anyway, you didn't answer my question."

The Dragonborn had to think about that for a second. The rogue had proven to be loyal(ish), and now that Percy knew she was a vampire, he oddly trusted her more. If she wanted to rob them blind and suck them dry, she would've already.

"She's a thief, obviously, and that's not great. But... she doesn't seem like a bad person."

"Do you trust her?"

"...I think I _do_, actually."

Eldawyn sighed a took a drink from one of her flasks. "Good, because I do, and I wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy."

"You're not."

The mage tossed a whole leek into the pot, but this time he said nothing. "'Tis a relief. I'm technically supposed to be protecting you, you know."

"Well, I haven't died yet."

The door swung upon, and Sparrow sauntered in. "I couldn't really get into the houses. Too much bloody snow."

"You don't seem as bothered by the cold as I thought you would be. Well, for a Cyrod, anyway," Elenwyn mused.

"I spent a lot of time in Bruma. That's how I got my accent, which isn't regular for someone Cyrodiilic. And what about you, Altmer?"

The mage stiffened and coughed. "I've spent my fair share of years here in Skyrim."

Percy suddenly realized he didn't know much about Elenwyn at all, but decided not to press it. Not yet, anyway.

Before Sparrow could say something else, the Altmer cleared her throat. "Well, I think dinner is ready."

That moment of uncertainty faded away into drinks, laughs, and warm food, and the next thing Percy knew, he was being shaken awake for the trek up the Seven Thousand Steps.

* * *

**Uhhhh hey guys.**

**Jesus, the last time I updated was the day that Far Cry 4 came out. Sorry for that, and I actually do have a few reasons. 1) I started and beat Dragon Age Inquisition - great game, btw, you should probably play it - and I do not like to overlap my fantasy canons. I tried writing this during my playthrough and I actually called Percy "The Inquisitor" once. No joke. So I inevitably end up mixing them together. I figured I should wait. 2) This part was really hard to write - writer's block and the like. 3) My laptop took a shit two weeks ago and I just got my new one today. I lost my whole chapter and I wrote this in four hours. Hopefully it doesn't suck ass as a result.**

**So yeah, sorry. I hope the plot can start moving along faster once they come back from the Throat of the World. I think that's when more of the uniqueness of what I have planned should come out. Maybe, I don't know.**

**Face Hugz,**

**Professor Marmalade, AKA the Daedric Prince of Crossovers**


	17. Old Time Religion

**6th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Late Evening**

**Imperial City, Cyrodiil**

Rian sucked in his breath and waited, crossbow at the ready.

The Imperial Parade was about to come through the Tiber Septim District - or the Talos District, before the elves put the pressure on the Emperor to change it. The first few carts were now trundling along the road: marching Imperial Legion, along with Penitus Oculatus. Most of the Oculatus were keeping the crowd at bay. Many people had turned up to see the procession, most of them unhappy.

And there came the Archpriest of the Eight Divines, Bernard DuMont. Breton man, fifties, bit portly. Not the target.

Rian himself was in the second story of a cheap inn. His crossbow had been quite easy to smuggle in. It was of Dwemer make; a crossbow that held eight bolts, so it could be fired more that once without reloading. With about half a second in between shots, it was perfect for his task.

Ah, there came the elder Emperor, His Eminence Titus II. Seated in a carriage next to the Empress Consort, Camella. They were both in their fifties.

Next came the four Imperial heirs.

The heir apparent was a boy of twenty named Artorius. Generally regarded as an asshole by all who knew him. Next, his older sister, Cynthia. Then their two younger brothers, Pavos and Alebecius.

Rian brought the crossbow to his eye and prepared to fire his first shot when he noticed the procession had stopped. A poor women had stepped out and interrupted the parade. "We're starving, and you and your family are parading about in silks!" She held up a bundle. "This was my son. He died, three weeks after he was born."

One of Penitus Oculatus kindly asked her to move, but she refused. Others began jeering at the Emperor too. Rian cursed. This was bad. A poorly-timed riot would ruin everything.

He took aim at the first target and fired.

The bronze-tipped bolt pierced the sunny day and embedded itself directly into Artorius's throat. Man went down like a ragdoll. Before anyone could react, Rian had pulled the trigger three more times. Four dead children of Titus II.

People were in the shock and soon figured out where the bolts were coming from. Penitus Oculatus didn't even tend to the dead bodies of the heirs; they started firing arrow up at the window. Meanwhile, the poor were getting more and more agitated.

So the assassin did the only thing natural: he jumped out of the window and outside.

He landed on a few people, but he didn't care. He struggled to his feet and pushed his way through the crowd, crossbow out and loaded with eight bolts. He arrived to the lead carriage, shot two Penitus Oculatus agents, and pulled out a knife. He pulled open the door to the Emperor's car.

He stabbed the Empress Consort and wrenched her body out of the carriage. "My dear Camella!" Cried Titus. Rian jumped into the carriage and stared at the now furious Emperor. "You killed-"

Rian shot a pulse of green magic out of his hand. A paralysis spell. The old man froze in place and fell to the ground.

_Good, _Rian thought.

The assassin grabbed the reins of the horses, and the carriage began to move forward. Trampling over the poor, he went as fast as he could out of the city. He needed to get out to the country, and fast.

* * *

**Throat of the World, Skyrim**

Percy shivered against his jacket as he continued up the steps. "So who do you suppose built the steps? The Greybeards or the pilgrims who needed a way to get up here?"

"Well... hmm... I'd guess the pilgrims?"

"Well, yeah. Of course. I'm siding with Elda on this one, Rabbit. That seems obvious."

Percy glanced at the thief, whose brown eyes only looked back. The three wore face covers to ward off frostbite, leaving only eyes in exposure to the elements. "I'm not so sure. The whole "Seven Thousand Steps" thing is great marketing. A catchy name, you know? Draws in tourism... I don't know."

"Yes, but the Greybeards are, by all accounts, old sods."

"Old sods who hopefully make great wine."

The Dragonborn rolled his eyes. "Right. But the Greybeards aren't immortal, they have to recruit replacements. So at one point, Greybeards AREN'T super old. Maybe some young Greybeards built them?"

"Ehh..."

"It's not _impossible, _but if I were to put money on it, I'm going with pilgrims built it. How about ten septims, Percy?"

"I'll take that bet, Elda."

The walk continued along, going up snow-tossed steps. The snow up here was falling, but also blowing around at such a fast rate that sometimes the steps themselves could be seen. It was like the snow was falling sideways as well as down.

"Should we make camp soon?" Eldawyn asked.

Percy considered this. "How long have we traveled today?"

"Jeez... I've no idea. It could be high noon or midnight right now, with how much light and visibility we've got."

"Right. And also, we've seen no overhangs or anything. We won't be able to light a fire without one," Sparrow pointed out. "We should keep pushing o-"

"OW!"

Percy had managed to walk right into a signpost, and as such had been knocked backwards onto his butt. He heard giggling behind him. "Shut up," he grumbled. He scrambled to his feet and squinted at the sign post. He found himself at a loss, with dyslexia messing everything up. "Uh, Elda? What does that sign say?"

Her yellow eyes looked at him in surprise. "Can you, umm... can you not read, Percy?"

He blushed at that. "No, of course I can read! I, just... the letters get all jumbled up in my head and it's hard sometimes."

"Oh, so you're slow?" Sparrow asked mockingly.

"No. Do I look, act, or sound slow, Sparrow?"

Before the Cyrod could make a sharp comment back, Eldawyn cleared her throat. "Right. So the sign just says 'High Hrothgar'. Unless some part of it is-"

Percy took one more step forward and there was a devastating shout. "DOOOOOV... AHHHH... KIIIIIIIIN!"

Percy clutched his head, while his party members did the same. Suddenly, the blinding snow stopped. The clouds parted, and the sun was shining again.

"By the Eight..."

The trio were near a sheer ledge that overlooked the plains of Whiterun. They were below cloud level, so an amazing image of the forests near Riverwood and the tundras of Whiterun stretched on and on. "This view must go for miles..." Sparrow said.

The city itself stood proudly in the setting sun. The lights of the palace were just starting to show. The sky itself was a brilliant array of pinks and reds and purples from the sunset, and it was all prettier than a postcard.

The Dragonborn managed to tear his gaze away to look on to the right. A great black-brick building that looked positive ancient loomed. No windows, put clearly two stories. A tower rose in the courtyard of the building in the background. to the right, the sumimit of the mountain loomed even further up, coming to an almost perfect spire.

"This place is bloody magical," Sparrow gasped.

"Well, yes. It is."

Percy thought of something. "How did the Greybeards lug the building materials up here anyway?"

Eldawyn glared at him. "Can't you just appreciate something that looks absolutely magnificent? I'm here for the wine, you'll remember, and this is remarkable."

"Right, right."

"Let's get out of this damned cold."

The trio darted up the staircase to the right, where they came to a strange door. On it was a large, ornate knocker. Percy pounded it thrice, and the door slowly opened. The huge door slowly opened.

The opening room was a huge, drafty room made of stone. "So where's-"

As if by command, an old frail man in a dark robe turned the corner and approached the trio. Percy decided to stay put, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

He came up close and looked Percy dead in the face. "And so a Dragonborn would appear now... at the turning of the age..."

The son of Poseidon was so startled by the lack of personal space and the elder's hushed whisper that he said nothing and didn't move a muscle. "And you have brought interlopers."

"Uh... yes. They're my friends. The climb was treacherous, and without them I would've made it, sir."

He nodded slowly. "My name is Arngeir," he whispered. "I speak for the Greybeards." Percy had noticed that three other ancient old monks had strolled up. "When we speak, we shatter the world. Our four combined whispers created the call that summoned you here."

Even when Arngeir whispered, Percy felt slight vibrations. So subtle it would be hard to pick up on them unless you really paid attention. "I would ask you to let us taste your voice, so we know for certain you are, in fact, Dragonborn."

"Uh..." Percy had figured that the old monk wanted him to shout at them. They looked so frail, but since they could blow Percy to bits by simply raising their voice, he figured they could take it. He took a few steps back and then called _"FUS!"_, and the blue wave of energy rolled over them. They didn't flinch.

"So it is truly the Dragonborn. Welcome to High Hrothgar, then. Tell me; why have you come?"

He nearly blurted out "because you summoned me" before thinking it over. The monk had probably wanted the question to ring deeper. "I want to kill dragons. I know this Dragonborn business can help me do that."

Arngeir nodded thoughtfully. "Well... you are, indeed, Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? We will see." He looked pointedly at Eldawyn and Sparrow, who were silently watching the exchange. "Your... _guests _are welcome in High Hrothgar, if they do not disturb us during meditation, prayer, or training."

Eldawyn nodded. "We'll make ourselves scarce. Now... which way to the kitchen?"

Arngeir meekly gestured to a hallway on the left, which the two went down. The monk looked back to Percy. "Now, without training, you have already taken steps to projecting your essence into a_ thu'um_, or shout..."

* * *

**10th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Early Morning**

Percy had never really given much thought to meditation.

He'd always dismissed it as affluent white hippy stuff, mostly a gimmick to help people, like a placebo. After all, when he tried crossing his legs and chanting "om" over and over, nothing happened. His mind was always just as active as it normally was, with the ADHD in there going nuts are trying to be as annoying as possible.

This was before the Greybeards taught him how to meditate for real.

When he heard that part of his training would be simply zoning out and _thinking _about stuff rather than practice his shouting magic, he was weary. But Arngeir still instructed him to drop to two knees, face the north, clasp his hands and lay them on his legs, close his eyes, and then really, for real, focus. He was told to think about the only words of power they'd taught him; _Fus, Ro, _and _Dah._

The more he focused, the more he felt in sync with the dragon-y part of him. When he was deep in thought, he felt less aggressive and generally angry then normal. Being able to actually focus himself was a weird feeling. He wondered if this was what most people felt like all of the time.

He rose from his mediation to hear a clearing of a throat behind him. He turned to find Eldawyn standing there, looking anxious. She had heavy bags under her eyes.

"You, uh, told me not to interrupt you while you were meditating," she said.

"Yeah, thank you. What's going?"

She shrugged. "Greybeards told me to fetch you. They're in the main hall."

"Thank you, then." Percy rose to his feet slowly.

Shortly after arriving at High Hrothgar, Percy had been given a set of robes similar to those that the Greybeards wore. The intricate set of clothing was very comfortable - thought it was bit like a dress, which Sparrow had teased him for - and Percy actually didn't mind dressing like a monk.

"I'm surprised you're not already a few drinks in, Elda," Percy joked.

She shrugged. "I expected the Greybeards' stuff to be a bit... I don't know, stronger? I'm rather disappointed."

"Well, they can't exactly be stumbling around drunk, can they?"

The wine up at High Hrothgar was a watered-down formula designed to work with whatever grapes they could grow inside, using magic and all that. It tended to taste quite odd, though not exactly bad. Still, Eldawyn was quite pleased with the experience.

"Besides, they're busy... like... talking to the sky and stuff. Gotta be clear of mind to do that, I bet."

"Oh, I'm sure."

They entered the main chamber of the monastery, where the four monks were standing. "I'll, uh, be off, then." Eldawyn scurried off in the general direction of the dining hall.

After a few seconds, Arngeir turned to Percy. "How goes your meditation, Dragonborn?"

Their insistence on calling him "Dragonborn" rather than his actual name irked Percy, but he supposed it was a moot point. "It's fine. I'm surprised it's been helping as much as it has."

"Good. Good... you are making progress, Dragonborn. We have one more task for you before we can officially induct you as one of our own."

"And what is that?"

He shakily took a deep breath. "You are to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from the ancient fane of Ustengrav. The tomb is far to the west, in the Drajkmyr marsh. It is near the city of Morthal, and you may wish to begin your search there. If you succeed, I would ask you return with the horn."

Percy nodded slowly. "Morthal, then? Alright."

"I wish you the best, Dragonborn. But, before you part... I would show you one last thing."

"Of course."

The old man ambled over to an innocuous wall with an old carving on it. He touched several parts on the wall and muttered something in a low voice that Percy couldn't hear. Suddenly, the wall shimmered away, and a blue surface that looked like it was made out of liquid appeared.

"A quicker way up and down the mountain," Arngeir explained. "Should you walk through this door, you will appear below at the foot of the mountain. In order to activate this door from the other side, you must merely say the words: _'Nel wundun voknau viing do Kaan'._"

Percy quickly translated it. "Uh... 'Fast travel upon the wings of'... is that word 'Kyne'?"

"Yes. She is the old Nordic deity of the sky, and the one who gave mortals the thu'um." Arngeir coughed loudly. "Regardless, you are now spared the climb, both ways. You have made the pilgrimage once, and that is plenty enough."

"Thank you, master." Percy mentally calculated that going along with the Greybeards was the probably the way to go about getting rid of Alduin. Not like he had any leads himself.

"You'd best fetch your interloper friends and be on your way. We're going to run out of food and wine at this rate."

"Sorry about that."

* * *

Once the Dragonborn was suited back up in his armor, he went and got Sparrow and Eldawyn. The three approached the weird shimmering gate, with one of the mute Greybeards - Borri - standing next to it, looking incredibly old and fragile.

"Thank the Eight for this. I was hoping we wouldn't have to go back down the way we went up," Eldawyn said, reaching out and touching the blue magic. "Feels like water..." she shook her head. "Never seen anything like this before. Didn't know teleportation was possible."

The Greybeard cleared his throat, and the floor vibrated as a result. Jeez. If this guy so much as said "Hello", Percy was sure that anyone nearby would be utterly eviscerated. He pointed at the door with a look of impatience on his gaunt face.

"Right. On through we go, then. I'll go first." Percy stepped through the wall cautiously. He instantly stepped into broad sunlight, and he saw where he was - right at the space of ground before the first of the Seven Thousands Step. Nice.

Within seconds, Eldawyn and Sparrow both popped out too. "I expected that to be unpleasant."

Percy took a deep breath and looked around. Ivarstead was still covered in snow, though the sun was out. He couldn't see his exhales when he breathed, so it was warming up. He supposed a little snow had melted.

"Well. Are we all still partners, or what?" Percy asked, turning to the other two with him.

Eldawyn gave him a strange look. "What do you mean?"

He sighed and looked over the abandoned town. Pretty soon, all that snow would melt. The resulting flood would probably rot the wood and destroy all the houses. Shame, that. "I don't know. You've sampled the Greybeard's wine, Elda. You don't want to go back and live easy in Whiterun?"

She shook her head. "No. I've been looking for a reason to get out of there for awhile. I don't know exactly why, but I've a feeling we're going to do something worth my time."

Percy nodded, smiling slightly. "And you, Sparrow?"

She rolled her eyes and stayed snug in her hood. She was looking rather gaunt and pale. She probably needed to feed. "I told you, Rabbit. As long as you have need of my services, I will stay. You needn't worry about that."

He exhaled greatly. "Alright. Alright... well, the Greybeards gave me a last task; I need to go find an old warhorn."

"Warhorn?" Eldawyn asked

"Yeah. You know, one you blow into? Makes a big sound? Probably for signifying troop movements or an alarm."

Sparrow twisted an arrow around in her fingers, looking a bit nervous. "And why would those geezers need one?"

Percy shrugged. "Could be symbolic? Who knows. Anyway, they said the horn was in a place called Ustengrav, a tomb. Far west, near a city called Morthal."

Eldawyn whistled. "Out in the sticks. The Greybeards certainly didn't want this to be easy, huh? Well, dig out your map. We might as well plan our course."

"Alright. Let's run through it again - one day north to Pargran Village, crossing into Stormcloak territory."

"Yep."

"One day north-west, till we cross into Whiterun Hold. We keep heading west for a day, stop over in Whiterun."

"Uh..." Percy squinted down at the map again. "Yeah."

"Northwest to Helljarchen."

"Keep going."

"West to Jallenheim, one day of travel or so. Then two or three days north to Morthal, if we can find a pass through the Eldersblood Mountains. If not, we go around to Coldrock."

"Yes, yes, and yes."

Percy rolled up the map, slipped it into his backpack, and rubbed his gloved hands together. Eldawyn cleared her throat. "The issue being that it's already noon. Moving now would leave us out at night in the Springs of Eastmarch. Not a safe place."

"Bugger... we could find a cave or something, at least get a few miles in, right?"

Percy nodded slowly. "I like the way you're thinking, Sparrow. Yeah, let's do that."

Just then, he saw the first band of bloody Dragon Cultists. And it wouldn't be the last.

"Look, over there. Do you see that?" Eldawyn suddenly said, pointing to Ivarstead. Percy looked, and indeed saw what she was talking about.

A small group of armed people - maybe five or six, he supposed - wearing heavy metal armor. Painted on the armor was scribbling that he couldn't even begin to decipher from this distance. They were approaching Ivarstead, walking up to its gate. The man in charge glanced over to the mountain, and went wide-eyed at the sight of the three. He pointed and shouted something.

"Well, my guess is they aren't friendly," Percy muttered. He drew Riptide. "You guys wait up here. I go handle this."

"What? No!"

He glared back at the two. "You both can cover me - Sparrow with your bow, Elda with your magic. They might not even be bad guys. I'll go see."

He started down before Eldawyn called out, "Wave when you want us to fire, alright."

Percy said he would.

The demigod sauntered down into the town, where the found the six armored people standing. None of them worse proper helmets. All six of them were Nords - four men, two women. All wearing that weird armor with the scribbles on it. Percy gripped Riptide tightly, white-knuckling the blade. "Hello," he said. "Can I help you?"

A man with a closely-trimmed blonde beard took a step forward. "No, you cannot. We are claiming this town for the Fylkir. Do you believe in the Fylkir's word?

"Fylkir? What's a Fylkir?"

"He's a heretic," one of the women said.

Blonde-beard shook his head. "He simply has not received the Fylkir's word. We cannot punish someone for ignorance."

He took another step forward. "Boy, the Fylkir is our proud leader - the _true _leader of all men. He received word from Talos himself, and he is the herald of Talos's word. Only he can pilot us through these turbulent times. Talos has told us through the Fylkir that we must worship the Old Gods instead of the Imperial ones and submit ourselves in servitude to the dragons, like in the days of old."

_Submit in servitude... _oh no.

"The Fylkir's word has moved quickly, and many flock to his cause. We have already given him a city to rule from - Dragonwood. Our forces are slowly carving the eastern districts of Falkreath out from their vile rule of the heretic Siddgeir and his decadence." Blonde-beard rotated his steel greatsword in his hand. "And what say you of him? Are you a righteous believer, or a heretic?"

Percy said nothing for a few seconds. "Perhaps you are hesitant because you are not a Nord. We do not discriminate. All can hear the Fylkir's words."

Still nothing. "Boy, as I said, you-"

"I'm not a boy, you idiot. I'm the Dragonborn, and I don't know like what Malik... sorry, 'the Fylkir' has to say about me."

Blonde-beard looked at his fellow soldiers with alarm. "You cannot be! We heard the Dragonborn was a mighty warrior."

Percy felt the dragon in him purr. "Last mistake you'll ever make, man." He waved his arm. Half a second later, one of the warriors had an arrow in the throat and another was on fire. Everything from then on seemed to go in slow motion; two quick stabs and another arrow left only Blonde-beard. Percy quickly kicked out the man's knees.

"You're right, man. The Dragonborn _is _a mighty warrior." Percy aimed another kick at the man with his steel-toed boots. It connected with a crunch to his jaw.

Percy forced the man back to his knees. By this time he could hear Eldawyn and Sparrow behind him, telling him to stop. He got in Blonde-beard's face and said, "Everything you and your Fylkir have ever worked for will crumble by my doing. You are nothing, and you have failed."

The Nord spit in Percy's face. "Sooner death than renouncing the Fylkir."

"Suit yourself."

He slit the man's throat slowly, leaving him gurgling in the slushy snow. Percy kicked the body to the ground.

He turned to his companions and pulled out a rag. He began cleaning the blood off of Riptide. "That was gruesome, Percy. Even for me, that was a bit much," Sparrow said, looking gaunt under her hood. Despite saying this, she kept glancing at the man's lit throat, as if thinking a lot of nourishing blood would be going to waste.

"Well, he was a jerk." Once Riptide was clean, he slowly sheathed the sword. "Do you guys remember that crazy preacher back in Riverwood? The one who fled after stabbing that Companion?"

Eldawyn nodded slowly. "What does that have to do with this attack, Percy?"

The man glanced back down at the bodies. "They were agents of his. Blonde-beard claimed he gained a whole lot of followers, starting styling himself as 'the Fylkir'. What does that even mean?"

No one had an answer to that.

"Regardless, he has himself a little army, apparently. And they've been taking cities for him. He's got himself a little kingdom."

"But dangerous is he, actually? I mean... it's been less than two weeks since his thing at Riverwood. He can't have moved that fast."

Percy shook his head. "He hates me, wants me dead. Something about me not being the true Dragonborn or something, I don't remember. Blonde-beard said he was in a place called Dragonwood. We should go there and kill him."

The two women looked at each other briefly. Eldawyn reached out and grabbed Percy's arm. "You aren't thinking straight. We can't just walk into a city and kill the guy in charge. You're good, Percy, but you'd die trying to take a city with only three people."

"Let the Imperials or the Stormcloaks take of them. Better they than us," Sparrow put in.

The Son of Poseidon's head was spinning, but he found himself nodding. "Yeah, sure. You're right."

Months later, the two would admit that they were gravely incorrect.

* * *

**Sorry for the wait, friends. Usual shit has my attention everywhere but here.**

**Also, "Fylkir" is an old Norse word that basically means Unifier or Leader. Since Malik is into the Old Gods and Nord tradition, I thought an old Viking word would suit him just fine.**

**NOTE: My maps are updated. I put a lot of work into them - especially the Map of Tamriel, which took bloody ages to redo. You should check it out.**


	18. The Emperor, the Orphan, and the Khajiit

**12th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Afternoon**

**A cave near the Imperial City**

Rian lobbed a fireball at the Emperor's carriage, and the thing went up in an inferno. He'd already let the horses go, because he quite liked horses.

He ducked into the cave to see His Eminence Emperor Titus II tied up and gagged. He was slumped against the wall, but was not squirming or struggling at all. Like the man had given up.

Rian walked over and removed the gag. He kneeled before the man. "You're not going to plead for your life, not going to fight? I'm disappointed."

The elder man looked him straight in the eye. "And why would I do that? I am fifty-nine years old. I have been emperor for forty-six of those years. I am as weak as they come. There is no escape for me, you see. I wait for the inevitable."

"And how do you know I aim to kill you? If I wanted to, you'd be dead already, Mister Emperor."

The defeated monarch laughed coldly. "Wishful thinking, I suppose."

Rian was intruiged by this answer. "Care to elaborate?" He was always fascinated by the way people's minds worked.

Titus bored into Rian's eyes. "I'm the Great War Emperor, boy. I'm the man who capitulated to the bloody Thalmor. I've never lived that down. Then immediately after I signed that, the nobility stabbed me in the back and took all my power. The Imperial Parliament calls our system a 'Regulated Monarchy.'" He laughed at this. "That's a nice way to say 'Crowned Republic.' Imperial Chancellor DuMont is the real head of state. I have no power. I am paraded about, I sign laws that I despise, and I have no control over my life.

He coughed loudly before grimacing. "I am being held hostage in the Imperial Palace. It is not a fate I would wish on anyone. I would've hurled myself off of my room's lofty parapet years ago were I not terrified by the prospect of my son inheriting my situation. There would civil war almost immediately - Artorius would assert himself, and then the Imperial Parliament would raise an army. The realm would crumble, even farther than now."

The bitter Emperor spit at the ground of the cave. "My wife Camilla had not spoken a genuine word to me in ten years before you killed her. My oldest son, Artorius, was an arrogant, aggressive fool. Pavos and Alebecius, both dull. My daughter Cynthia? The only one worthy of anything. And she is dead, alongside everyone else. At your hand.

"So excuse me for wanting to die, boy. And I never did catch your name."

Rian was rather shocked by the Emperor's existential angst and general loathing of everything. "You'd fit right in with these young philosophers in the big universities, talking about the hollowness of life and all that."

The Emperor didn't acknowledge this. "You have not yet told me your name or your intentions."

The assassin rose to his feet and began to slowly pace. "I am Rian of Cheydinal. I am a common man, born to a shopkeeper and a cobbler. I am a member of the World Revolution for Tamriel organization."

"You're an anarchist."

Rian shrugged. "I suppose you could say that. We have agents across Tamriel. We are planning world revolts against the evil empires of this world. The Dominion, the Argonians, and the Empire are our targets, as well as the minor kingdoms. These antiquated and evil imperialist factions shall burn, their flags at our feet, as we establish republicanism and freedom for all men, and elves and beastfolk."

"This will never work, just so you know. World revolution cannot be possible."

Rian only smiled and shook his head. "You just wait, Mister Emperor. You just wait."

**13th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Midday**

"You're being rather quiet, Percy."

The Dragonborn was completely zoned out while they headed west along the cobble-paved road. Pretty identical to a Roman road, if Percy remembered from his days back at Camp Jupiter. At least _this _Empire passed the infrastructure test.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Just... I don't know. Did I miss anything important?"

Eldawyn moved a strand of stringy yellow hair out of her face. It was quite warm by Skyrim's standards - probably around fifty degrees Fahrenheit - and as such they'd taken off hats and hoods. Except for Sparrow. "Not really. You're just usually a bit more talkative. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

The city of Whiterun loomed, probably only another ten minutes away. The stay had been uneventful, save for one dragon in the springs (dead as dirt) and standard raiders, wolves, usual stuff. Pargran Village had been nice, quaint. The springs of Eastmarch were weird. A hot and muggy of the province that apparently only got cold in the deep winter.

They hadn't run into any significant skirmishes - just a bunch of Stormcloak patrols, which allowed to pass without issue while they sung their silly songs about nationalism and marched with their cool spiked helmets.

Getting into Whiterun Hold was surprisingly easy. The guard outpost at Valtheim Towers let all three of them through without issue once Percy explained that he was a Thane. The men looked on edge with frayed nerves, as though they expected an attack, but still tried to be amiable.

"Do you guys mind if we go and see the Jarl? Sparrow, nothing against going straight into a castle and experiencing the high life again?"

The thief shrugged. She looked less pale and sickly after she'd fed off that bandit last night while Percy distracted Eldawyn. "Couldn't care less. You know me, I'll hang back and make myself scarce while the important people talk."

"So self-deprecating, Cyrod."

"'Tis a thing you could learn to be, Altmer."

The utterly abandoned roads outside of Whiterun felt unnaturally quiet. Percy wondered what Skyrim looked like while it wasn't in Civil War or under threat of dragon attacks. He imagined it was probably a bit more busy.

They passed through the gates into the city easily. Immediately, Percy saw arguing poor people, shoving each other and shouting about gods. Guards were trying to cut in, put it was clear they had little control.

"This is riot material," Eldawyn said.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, brilliant mage."

"Hush, Sparrow. Percy, let's hurry up to Dragonsreach."

"Yeah, don't have to tell me twice."

They hurried upwards, generally trying to avoid the tension. It was clear that the mad prophet's words had reached the city, and people were having... disagreements over it. The Jarl's men had no control over anything. This was very, very bad for Balgruuf.

Once they were up into the Wind District, violence had ceased. There were a few preachers, but no civil unrest. It was normal up in the Cloud Distract, with its wide streets and bright mansions as bright as ever.

Suddenly, Percy stopped. "Guys. I have to go check on one thing before we head up to the palace."

After wandering for a few minutes, Percy found the big wooden mansion that had been the boon afforded by his Thane status. Nailed above the doors was a simple wooden sign that read: **Jackson Orphanage. **

The Dragonborn felt a pang of pride at reading this. "How'd you manage to get your name on an orphanage, Rabbit?" Sparrow asked.

"This was the property given to him when he ascended to the aristocracy. He didn't need it, and rather than let it sit empty, he asked for it to be turned into an orphanage. And it seems like the promise was kept." Eldawyn nodded, looking up at the building. "I know I joke a lot, Percy, but I do admire you for doing that. Truly."

"Thank you, Elda." Percy took a long breath. "Now, let's see if this is a decent place or not."

He pushed open the door, and the three strode into the main parlor, where five or six kids played with dolls or blocks. They all wore clean clothes and looked like they were regularly bathing.

"Hellooooo!" A young woman suddenly swooped in out of nowhere. "I'm Sabina, and welcome to Jackson Orphanage, can I help you?"

All the kids had turned and looked.

"Uh, hi. I'm Percy Jackson, and I just wanted to see how things were going."

The girl grew crimson. "Mister Dragonborn, it is an _honor _to meet you. You're a gallant, handsome man, and your actions speak loudly. Opening the orphanage was just so charming and... heroic."

Some of the kids giggled.

Behind him, he could hear Sparrow and Eldawyn snickering too. Pinnacles of maturity, those two.

"Thanks, miss. So how's everything going?"

"Oh, well enough. We're still spreading the word around the city, and even then it's hard to reach some kids. But we're growing."

"Good, good." Percy looked at the kids. Many of them were staring up at him like he was a god. He felt his stomach do a backflip. It felt good to help these kids out.

Another kid looked over to see the encounter, and Percy recognized her instantly. It was that girl from the alley that he'd helped out with a meal back before he'd fought Mirmulnir. Geez, that felt like several lifetimes ago, and it was only a few weeks.

The girl rushed up to him, with Sabina clearing out of the way. Percy dropped to one knee so he was on her level. "Hey. What's up?"

Alessia smiled. She was no longer in ripped Hessian-sack clothing; she was wearing a blue dress that was a little dusty and seemed a bit too tight on her, but this was still massive impressive. She was clearing bathing. "You really opened this place up?"

Percy couldn't help but have a big dumb smile on his face. "Well, I told the Jarl to, yeah. Do you like it here?"

She nodded. "We get food everyday and clean dresses and it's dry and Sabina is really nice and she's teaching me how to read. It's amazing!"

The Dragonborn patted her shoulder. "Great! That's great to hear, Alessia."

"Do you two know each other?" Sabina asked, confused.

Alessia nodded vigorously. "He met me on the street. He bought me food, and promised to visit me again. And then he saved the city from a dragon, and then he made this place! He's the best, Miss Sabina!"

Percy's face went red. "It was the decent thing to do. I'd hope anyone else would make the same decision as I did."

"But no one else is, or this city would've had an orphanage years ago," Sabina pointed out. "So thank you."

Percy looked back down to Alessia and smiled. "I've got to go, but I'll be back later, alright? Promise."

He said his goodbyes and then emerged back out into the city.

"Such a tender moment there, Percy. I didn't realize you were a saint in your free time," Sparrow quipped dryly.

"Shut up, Sparrow. Sorry I like to do nice things."

"I'd never burgle an orphanage, if it makes you feel any better."

Percy dramatically exhaled. "Phew. Load off my back. Look, you guys can do whatever you want now. I'm gonna go see the Jarl. Just be ready to leave tomorrow morning. We'll meet in Dragonsreach, alright?"

The two women shared a glance before Eldawyn nodded. "Alright. I'll go show our friend the town. Come on then, thief. You haven't drank until you've done it at the Bannered Mare."

The two left, and Percy found himself alone. The streets of the Cloud District were empty. He took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Clear, sun out. He breathed in the autumn air. It felt peaceful, even though there was a Civil War and a religious revolution bubbling under the surface.

He then decided to go back into the orphanage. He wasn't feeling up for a visit to Dragonsreach at the moment.

* * *

**After nightfall**

"'Anu grappled with his brother and pulled them both out of time forever.'" Alessia looked up from the book - titled "A Children's Anuad" - to Percy. "How did I do?"

The man was actually rather surprised at her quick progression. "You're doing great. You'll be better than me before long, I imagine."

"I bet you're the best reader in the whole city."

Percy laughed and shook his head. "No. Not even close to it, I imagine. I've never been good at it."

"Why?"

The Dragonborn shrugged. "It's not important."

He looked out of a nearby window and was startling to see that night had fallen. He'd been here for hours. "It's getting late, kid. Isn't it your bedtime?"

Alessia, sitting on her sturdy bed, pouted a little. "But you're here."

"I know, but I need to go. Really, this time."

She stopped smiling and sighed. "Fiiiiiine."

"Good." Percy got up from the chair. "'Night, Alessia. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Her face lit up. "You're staying in the city?"

"Uhhh..." Percy bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed. "Look, you know how I killed that dragon?"

"Yes!"

"Well... there are more to kill. I'm probably not going to be here in Whiterun very often."

She looked confused. "Because the bad guys need to be killed?"

"Yeah. The bad guys need to be killed."

Alessia nodded slowly. "Are you going far away?"

"Maybe." The girl suddenly looked downtrodden. "Hey, hey, hey. I'll be checking in when I can. I'll try to bring you back a souvenir, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"To Morthal. It's not too far, I'll be okay." He went to one knee so he could see her eye to eye. "You've got it good here, kid. Sabina is a good woman, and the other kids seem nice. Enjoy yourself, and don't worry about me." He patted her on the head. "'Night, Alessia."

He strode out of her room, only to bump into Sabina.

"You two really have a connection, huh?" She asked.

Percy shrugged. "She seems to like me, and I like being with her. I guess you could say so."

The orphanage manager smiled. "You should visit her more often."

"I will when I can, trust me. Now, you should get some rest, you look exhausted."

Sabina nodded. "I am extremely tired, but I do not like to rest and leave the children unsupervised. Ehh... perhaps you are right."

"Good. Sleep well, miss."

And with that, Percy emerged into the cool night air. He looked up at was surprised to see the sky lit up with beautiful colors. Like the Aurora Borealis, which he'd only seen pictures of before. It was a staggering sight to see.

He probably stood there for a few minutes, just gazing up at it like an idiot, before deciding that he should probably get up to Dragonsreach.

* * *

Balgruuf sat at his banquet table, looking as though he'd aged twenty years, when Percy walked in.

The ruler looked up. "Ah, hello there, Thane! Back from High Hrothgar I presume?"

Percy nodded. "Yeah. It was... something, alright. They're sending me on a quest north to find some warhorn in a place called Ustengrav. Said that the Jarl there could show me the way."

Balgruuf nodded. "Idgrod knows much, and she is dependable. She will get you to this Ustengrav." He got up from his chair. "I would show you something, Percy."

"Alright."

The petty king led him up through the throne room and towards the war room. "Will you need a place to stay for the night?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, I think so."

Balgruuf looked to one of the servants who was sweeping the floor. "Can you arrange a guest room for the Dragonborn? If Fianna complains that your job isn't down, tell her to speak to me."

"Yes, my Jarl."

The servant ran off to a different wing of the castle. Balgruuf sighed and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. He was in normal clothes and without his crown, and looked like a regular if severely fatigued man.

"You look terrible," Percy blurted out. When he realized that that was probably rude or improper or whatever, he said, "Sorry, but, uh..."

Balgruuf smiled slightly and shook his head. "I know what you mean. My own children have mentioned it." He pushed open a rather huge door, and led Percy into some sort of dimly lit hall that led to a balcony. The scale of it all was staggering. "Welcome to the Great Porch of Dragonsreach, Percy."

Torches along the walls lit the place, as well as moonlight that leaked in from the balcony. "This is all rather huge."

"Aye, it is. Do you see that wooden contraption up there?" The Jarl pointed up at barely-visible wooden arch.

"Uh, yeah, I think so."

"Legend has it that thousands of years ago in the First Era, Jarl Olaf One-Eye lured a dragon in here named Numinex. Trapped him using that strange machine you see up there. Supposedly it suppressed the dragon's Thu'um with an enchantment, and he kept it as a trophy in order to get elected High King."

Percy looked up at it, wondering if the old thing could actually do it. "Huh. And did he get elected king?"

"Well, no. There was a bloody succession war fought, which he won."

"And he still had a pet dragon."

The ruler laughed. "Yes, I suppose he did."

They came to a stop once they reached the edge of the balcony. The thing overlooked the northern tundras of Whiterun, with the view stretching on in the pale moonlight. Percy could see animals moving around, and a castle in the far distance.

"It's quite a thing, isn't it?" Balgruuf said, procuring a bottle of mead out of nowhere and handing it to Percy. "I know you're not Nord by birth, but you ought to be able to handle the stuff. You're tough."

Percy said nothing, opened the bottle and took a drink. He coughed. "Jeez. My housecarl has fed me whiskey that kicks softer than this."

"How is she panning out? Eldawyn has been a regular in Dragonsreach for years, at Farengar's request. Is she... behaving herself?"

"Yes, of course." Percy took another sip. "It's got a hint of mint, but also honey."

"The mint flavor comes from how the castle brewer makes the stuff. Chills it in snow he harvests from the mountains!" Balgruuf laughed as he took his own drink. "Man earns his paycheck, and then some."

Even in the dark lighting, Balgruuf looked terrible. "What's going on, sir? You look twenty years older."

Suddenly the petty king lost his smile, and Percy instantly felt bad. "You ever get the feeling that what's happening around you is very important? Like it'll all be in some egghead's history book or a romantic poet's ballads and will be spoken of for centuries?"

Percy thought about it. He'd always assumed him beating the Giants and Titans would be history book material, at least amongst demigods. He wondered if they'd be talking about he and the Seven's deeds for centuries.

Thinking of the Seven made him feel incredibly homesick, and so he stopped.

"I guess I can understand what you're saying," Percy said.

Balgruuf sighed. "I've heard about this religious prophet down south causing trouble. My contacts amongst the peasants tell me his word has reached my city, and is the cause of all the tension." He rubbed his temples and looked out over the plains. "Imagine the whole of history right up until this point is this balcony. Even when we were in the middle of it, we had some idea of what was the come. Now, we stand where we are here, Percy. The whole world is on the brink of collapse of a moment's notice, and I do not know what happens next."

"What do you mean?"

The man took a long swig from his bottle. "The Empire - the one stabilizing factor everywhere for hundreds of years - is a husk of its former self. The civil war here only further weakens everyone. You've got the prospect of religious revolution with this Malik character, which is incredibly dangerous and should be squashed. And then you have these liberal thinkers in the big universities - University of Whiterun included - that speak of representative government. A hundred different forces pull at our world, Percy, and I know not who will win."

Everything was remarkably complicated, and Percy wasn't exactly sure if he liked it that way. It complicated his very simple task, which was "Kill Alduin." Politics, always getting in the way of stuff. "Just out of curiosity, why did you declare independence, Jarl? If you think the Empire is a stabilizing factor, then...?"

The petty king sighed. "I have a prediction for what the future will bring, though I do not like it. I imagine everything will shatter - the Empire, the Dominion, the Argonian Empire - all of it. We shall enter the second Time of Blood and Venom, like the one in the Second Era. Small kings - like myself - will fight petty wars over religion or government style - kingdom or republic - with each other until a second Tiber Septim whips us all back into shape. And I want to be prepared for it." The man took another drink. "This is what I think, anyway. For all I know, the Argonians will conquer the whole world by summer."

After a few moments of silence, Balgruuf cleared his throat. "Well, that dampened things. I'm sorry, my Thane. We ought to be celebrating and living happily while we still can, eh?"

"I'm, uh, not really feeling up for it, sir. Sorry."

He only nodded. "No need for the sir, by Talos, Percy. I consider you a friend. You needn't worry yourself over such things as etiquette."

Percy shrugged. "Alright. I think I'm going to bed. Thanks for the drink, Balgruuf."

"No problem. Uh, just ask a servant to show you the way, alright?"

"Yeah."

* * *

**14th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Morning**

"Percy, there's a man by the stables who wants to meet with you."

The Dragonborn was enjoying an apple for breakfast when Balgruuf's housecarl, Lydia, delivered the news. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"No, Thane, just that he wished to speak with you."

Percy nodded, muttered a quick "thanks" as the lady walked off, and rose to his feet. Eldawyn and Sparrow were in the kitchen, so he decided to head down to the stables by himself.

The day was overcast, but didn't look or smell like it was going to rain. It was yet another cool day, although thankfully not freezing.

The trip down to the castle stables was short, and soon he found a crowd of people, and what sounded like arguing. As he approached, one of the guards took notice. "Don't worry, Thane. These Khajiit will be removed from the city."

Through the crowd, Percy swore he could've seen a cat-like face. But clearly he'd been wrong.

"I was told someone wanted to meet me here."

A man shoved his way forward. He was wearing fine clothes and a fur hat, but the most striking thing about him was his face. It turns out that the cat-like face he'd seen had been real. "This one wishes to speak with the Dragonborn." His voice was accented, a bit like Spanish but also... not.

Behind him stood two other cat people - one in normal clothes and another in plated armor. The one in clothes seemed to be wearing a dress and was less broad than the other two, so Percy assumed she was a female. "What? Haven't you seen a Khajiit before, Thane?" One of the guards asked.

Percy shook his head. "No."

"Well, it doesn't matter. They managed to trick the mayor into letting them into the city, but they will now be leaving. And they are lucky they do not end up in the Dragonsreach Dungeon."

"And why would they go there?"

The guard made a face. "They're _Khajiit, _Thane. Thieves the lot of them."

Percy shook his head. "Well that seems rather racist, doesn't it?" The guard didn't respond. "If they asked to talk with me, I'll talk with them."

"This one is called Ri'saad, and he thanks you for your tolerance," the Khajiit said. "Ri'saad would like to discuss a... business venture."

"I'm not the best at business," Percy admitted, shifting on his feet. "I'll listen, though."

Ri'saad nodded, smiling widely, his feline grin a bit unsettling. "With the civil war and these dragons about, travel has become more dangerous for Khajiit. Kharjo there-" The armored Khajiit raised his hand. "-is good with a sword, but is not an army himself. Khajiit would like to travel with you and your party."

"Why should I do that? It just seems like more people to take care of."

"You would be right," Ri'saad said, "but we can fend for ourselves. Khajiit palate is... _different, _from human taste in food. No concern there. You will be walking the main roads along your travels, yes? I profit off of the extra protection, and in return, Ri'saad will offer his services to your group at a steep discount. Potions, weapon repairs, anything you should need."

Percy thought about the idea for a second. It certainly couldn't hurt to have an extra sword around, if Kharjo was any good. And supplies were also good.

"Do not accept, Dragonborn," a guard warned. "Khajiit are known to be thieves and smugglers. They could be using you to traffic drugs, for all you know."

Ri'saad nodded sarcastically. "Yes, Khajiit are dirty thieves. And Nords are all lawless, barbaric beasts who bash heads together for fun." He looked backed to Percy. "Ri'saad assures you, Dragonborn, that we are honorable. And we will pull our fair share of the weight."

Percy shrugged. "I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Sure, you're on. Welcome aboard, Ri'saad, Kharjo, and...?"

"This one is called Akhari."

He nodded. "We're leaving for Morthal today. I'll gather my party and we'll meet back here."

* * *

**And Percy and his party finally get their own Bodahn Feddic. Ain't that grand?**

**Since I have nothing else to talk about down here in the Author's Note, I guess I should address something. People have called me out on my apparent lack of knowledge on alcohol. I must admit that I've never drank and no one in my family drinks - I'm Shi'a, and that's kind of against the code of Sharia - so I'm just going off of what I've read and what I've seen in games. So sorry.**


	19. Laid to Rest

**Well, the people have spoken. Here is a mighty 8,000 word chapter that I wrote in six hours on a Friday night. And all 8,000 of the words are about a freakin' side quest. One might ask why I chose to emphasize Laid to Rest, and it's because it's my second favorite side quest in Skyrim, behind only The Forsworn Conspiracy/Cidhna Mine (hint hint, nudge nudge).**

**Let it commense.**

* * *

**18th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Late afternoon**

"Khajiit misses the warm sands of Elsweyr," Kharjo lamented, as he coughed.

The mountain pass they had taken to get through Eldersblood Mountains was brutal; the path was narrow enough to make everyone worry about crashing the cart the Khajiit traders used for transport. And it bothered the Khajiits, since they were used to the warmer climes of their homeland - "Elsweyr", which was an utterly daft name for a place, in Percy's opinion.

They'd emerged into a wet, lowland forest that preceded the Drajkmyr marsh - a word that Percy refused to even try and pronounce. Here, the trees were mangled and crooked and just generally ominous. The thick fog that enveloped the area dragged down visibility. They could be mere meters away from the town and Percy wouldn't have even the faintest idea that they were.

The Plains of Whiterun seemed to stretch on forever; the small towns of Helljarchen and Jallenheim didn't do much to break up the monotony of the trip. Only once they reached the Eldersblood mountains did things get interesting, and only that was on account of the worsening conditions.

"Hopefully this blasted town isn't much farther," Sparrow spat, looking miserable on her horse.

Eldawyn laughed sarcastically. "We also have no idea where we're going. The road here isn't exactly well-marked."

"Ri'saad has taken this road before. Ri'saad knows the way," the trader assured her, from his seat atop the cart.

Their current travel setup was rather simple: a two-horse-drawn cart filled with Ri'saad's wares plodded along, while Ri'saad and Akhari sat on top of it. Percy, Sparrow, Eldawyn, and Kharjo were all on horseback, keeping pace. It was a bit odd, to say the least.

Finally through the fog, Percy saw the faint light of torches and what looked like a wall. "There we are. Hopefully the place is friendly."

As the caravan of sorts approached the gates, Percy could see that dreary picture: rotting wooden palisades, with a hastily scribbled sign reading **Morthal **next to the gate. a single gate guard looked down from his post. "What is your business, outsiders?" He asked. His accent was remarkably hard to place... almost a bit German to Percy. Odd.

"I'm here to speak with the Jarlessa. The Greybeards sent me. I'm the Dragonborn."

He hoped that the guard would immediately let him through, like those Stormcloaks did back at Helgen. But the man only sighed. "We don't let beastfolk in, outsider. Your pets stay out here."

"Not going to happen. These are-"

"Dragonborn, it is fine. Khajiit are used to it," Kharjo said, not sounding upset at all. "We will set up camp out here, as we always do."

"In the swamps? It's way too dangerous out here, you'll-"

"Percy," Eldawyn cut in, "this is just how it is. Move on."

It really didn't seem right to Percy, but he nodded, knowing he wouldn't win. The gates were opened, and the three strode in.

The streets of the town were wide, as the common people stared at the three outsiders. Their horses clopped through the muddy streets slowly. The Jarl's palace was clearly the biggest building in town, and even then it was nowhere near the grandeur of Dragonsreach.

Curiously enough, soldiers in well-kept Romanesque armor were all over town, whether they were simply walking about or standing in the crowd, keeping vigil. The Morthal guards looked at them with distrust. Imperial soldiers. Percy remembered them from Alduin's attack on Helgen and from Hadvar's armor. That is, before he got eaten that spider. Percy shuddered at the memory.

As Percy led his other two companions to the building, a Morthal soldier said, "We will be taking your weapons before you enter the palace."

Sparrow's hands instinctively shot to her bow. "No thank you."

As he felt his own hand moved to Riptide's hilt, Percy realized how naked he would feel without the blade. The guard stared up at Percy, blue eyes menacing. "We do not need outsiders in this town, Dragonborn. You are here because the Jarl had a vision foretelling you presense. This is a courtesy, and you shall comply."

Percy handed over Riptide, Sparrow her exotic bow, and even Eldawyn was forced to cough up her emergency elven dagger. After much grumbling and a muttered comment from Sparrow about "these damn rubes," they finally entered the "palace."

The main room was rather small, with a large room that held a long bed of fire down the middle. Beyond that, Percy could see an old woman, slouched on the throne. There were a few staircases and doors, but this was a much simpler affair than Dragonsreach.

"You may approach the Jarlessa, outsiders," a guard said, his pale green garb looking brighter in the firelight.

Percy nodded, and slowly walked towards Idgrod. The woman seemed rather old and looked a bit... infirm. A man in regular clothes stood at her side. The Dragonborn was unsure of what to do, so he awkwardly bowed. "Jarlessa."

She looked at him with piercing green eyes. "I foresaw your coming in a vision. And yet I know not your purpose. So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. Welcome."

She spoke rather slowly and as if it took great effort. The man in regular clothes cleared his throat. "I am Aslfur, traveler. Husband to the proud Jarlessa. I would ask what your business with us is."

"I am the Dragonborn, and the Greybeards have sent me on a quest. I need to find a place called Ustengrav nearby. I was told you would know of it, and help me find it."

Idgrod didn't even blink. "Yes, I know where the ruin you speak of lies. On the edge of the swampland and near the snowy border region with Dawnstar. Nearly impossible to find."

"Great! Could you, erm... escort us there?"

"No."

Percy really didn't expect that. "Uh..."

"My town is in shambles. Me traipsing outside town would almost assuredly result in someone seizing power or a revolt." Idgrod coughed. "And so I cannot go. Not now, at least."

"Surely, there's something we could do," Eldawyn offered. "We could do something for you if you help us."

Percy nodded. "Yeah, that would be fine."

Idgrod scratched at her chin, thinking.

"You can't be seriously considering this, Jarlessa!" Aslfur chided, looking at her with surprise. "You said it yourself; if you leave this town, it will surely mean anarchy."

"Not _me. _You can be thick sometimes, husband, you really can." Idgrod coughed again and turned to Percy. "My daughter could lead you to the location as well."

"Well, that's just lovely!" Sparrow said, looking eager to leave. "Give us your daughter and we'll be on our way."

"Absolutely not," Aslfur dead-panned. "She is the heir, and putting her in danger is not an option."

"I disagree, Aslfur." said a man in Morthal armor. He had a large badge, perhaps indicating he was in a position of power. "The Dragonborn's mission is of vital importance, if he is on orders from the Greybeards. I would suggest both you and your daughter going with him, and a small dispatch of guards. The more people in the group, the best chance of getting the task done with haste."

"For someone who claims to be the Jarlessa's bodyguard, you have little regard for her safety, Gorm," Aslfur said, in an accusatory tone of voice.

"Enough!" cried Idgrod. "I am in charge here, and I have made up my mind." Both of the quarreling men shut up instantly. The Jarlessa smiled slightly. "Dragonborn... what is your name, sir?"

"Percy Jackson."

"Mister Jackson, you have my daughter's aid in finding Ustengrav if you will do one simple thing for me."

"Yes?"

Idgrod rose from her throne and hobbled towards Percy. "A week ago, a house burned down nearby. Belonged to a man called Hroggar. His wife, Merta, and his daughter, Helgi, were caught in the blaze. Hroggar moved in with another woman, Alva, while the embers of his house were still warm."

"Well... that seems incredibly suspect," Percy said. "Did Hroggar say anything about it?"

"He blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fireplace," Idgrod said. "But many people think he set the fire himself, as he is now pledged to Alva."

"Well, why haven't you arrested him yet?" Eldawyn asked, sounding incredulous.

Idgrod laughed. "We have no evidence, and the people of Morthal would see it as tyrannical. But you three, outsiders... you may be able to do this for us."

Sparrow cleared her throat. "You have an entire force of guards, and yet you are having us do this?"

"The guards are focused on keeping the peace, and do not have time for this," Aslfur said. "The locals are too scared to investigate for us. They believe the area is haunted. If the situation were to resolved... I imagine that would stabilize things enough to help you find these ruins.

Percy thought about it for a second. He really didn't see another option. "Alright, we'll look into it. Where's this house, exactly?"

* * *

The night seemed a bit brighter in Morthal than in other places. Percy reckoned it was the moonlight reflecting off of the fog.

Despite this slight increase in brightness, the place was still remarkably creepy. Owls perched in the gnarled trees, while some frankly maddening sounds came from the swamp. Some of the noise seemed to be screaming, as though a ululating man was slowly pacing through the dense swamps. Or maybe just a trick of the wind. Either way, _maddening._

It was also quite cold, and Percy was mindful of the fact that their Khajiit allies were camped outside the city walls due to bigotry. In short, the Dragonborn was fighting off an overwhelming feeling of utter despair.

"We are _never _going back to this shithole of a town," Sparrow muttered. Percy nodded.

They finally sauntered up to the burned carcass of what used to be a wooden house. By now, all wreckage had been cleared away. Percy could walk right in. And yet, the dread of what he might find really, _really _made him not want to do it.

He stepped shakily into the house and then immediately swore at the top of his lungs and jumped about fifty feet in the air. Eldawyn and Sparrow rushed in after him, only to see what he's already found.

The figure of a girl was standing in the corner - young, not older than ten. She was entirely see-through, her body a ghostly pale blue. Of course there was a fucking ghost. She was humming innocently, as though she was unaware of their presence.

"Umm... hello?" Percy asked, his voice quivering. He had no idea if this ghost was going to attack them or something. "Who are you?"

"Helgi," she said, in that same, slightly German accent they all had here. "But papa says I shouldn't take to strangers. Are you a stranger?"

"Is Hroggar your papa?"

"You know him?" The ghost sounded happy all of a sudden. "He made my favorite dolly, but I can't find her now. Are you _sure _you're not a stranger?"

"No, we're friends," Eldawyn said, stepping forward. Percy let her take the lead. "Do you know what happened to your house, Helgi?"

"The smoke woke me up," Helgi continued, her voice wavering like a child who would cry. Could a ghost cry? "It was hot, and I was scared, so I hid. Then it got cold and dark. I'm not scared anymore. But I'm lonely. Will you play with me?"

Nope. No no no no no no. This was straight-up horror movie stuff, and Percy knew better. Never play with demonic children.

Clearly, Eldawyn was not well-versed in her contemporary Hollywood. "If we play with you, will you tell us who set the fire?"

"Okay! Let's play Hide and Seek. If you find me, and I'll tell you. But the other one is playing too."

"The 'other one?' What do you mean?" Percy cut in.

"I can't tell you! She might hear me! She's so close! But if you find me first, I can tell you! Good luck!" And she disappeared.

The three looked at each other, all looking exhausted and annoyed. Eventually, Sparrow sighed. "Let's find her tonight. Best deal with it sooner rather than later. Any ideas where she might be hiding?"

No one said anything, so Percy thought he'd give it a try. "What about her grave?

* * *

After asking one of the nearby guards where the girl was buried - apparently next to her mother on a hill overlooking the town - they headed up. Snow had begun slowly falling through the thick fog. It was both eerie _and_ cold.

Walking towards a grave at night was - yet again - something that Percy knew he should not be doing. Especially when the "other one" could be anywhere.

"Bloody hell, this is creepy," Eldawyn muttered, taking a drink.

"Oh, it'll be fine, you baby." Sparrow looked rather comfortable. Of course, she _was _a vampire, and she'd told Percy that she loved the night. She'd even pulled down her hood. Clearly she'd fed recently, as she looked normal.

After that, they continued along in a loaded silence.

They finally approached the hill after five minutes. When they got there, Percy was shocked to see that someone had dug up the coffin. And that someone was looking down at the coffin and muttering to it in another language.

"Get away from that!" Percy cried.

The person looked up, and her glowing eyes pierced the night. "Vampire!" Eldawyn cried.

The creature regarded them before baring her fangs. "GET BACK!" Sparrow cried. She had readied her bow, and held three arrows in her right hand. As she readied one, Percy could see the glint of the arrowhead. It looked like silver.

_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._

Percy was unsure how exactly she had done it, but she'd fired off three arrows in less than two seconds. They all found their mark, with the ranged weapons embedding themselves in the vampire's chest. She hissed in pain and clutched at the arrows, trying to dig them out.

And then the wounds started to steam.

The vampire cried out in agony as the arrows began to burn her. Eventually she ripped the arrows out of her abdomen, but by then she was already done for. She laid still.

"What the hell did you do to it?" Eldawyn asked Sparrow.

"Silver arrows," the thief replied back, looking smug. "When I heard we were going to a swamp, I stocked up on them in Whiterun. Everyone knows vampires like swamps. And everyone knows vampires hate silver weapons."

"How'd you shoot that fast?"

"It's an old archery trick." Sparrow readied her bow and grabbed three arrows from her quiver. "Draw on the right side, not the left. That's everyone's mistake. Hold three arrows in your shooting hand - one pulled back, the other two dangling down, waiting. Shoot one, flick the next arrow up, shoot, flick the next arrow up, shoot. It's quite fast. I'm not sure why more archers don't do it."

"I didn't understand what you just said, but that was excellent. Do it more," Percy said, still kind of shocked by how fast everything happened.

He slowly approached the vampire, and saw that the silver arrows had, in fact, burned her. Sparrow picked them up off the ground, wiped off the gore, and slid them back into her quiver. Eldawyn gave her a look. "What? We might need them!"

The elf only sighed. "Let's go see if this thing was the 'other one.'"

Percy took another step closer to the exhumed coffin when a voice suddenly came from it.

"You found me!" came the ghostly child's voice. "Laelette was trying to find me too, but I'm glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn Mommy and me, but she didn't want to. She wanted to play with me, forever and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold the fire didn't even hurt."

"By the Eight, the vampire tried to turn her," Eldawyn muttered.

"But she can't have me. I'm all burned up." The voice from the coffin suddenly sounded confused. "I'm tired. I think I'm gonna sleep for awhile."

And then the three were left to figure out what the hell to do.

"So should we just call it a night and figure it this out tomorrow?" Percy suggested with uncertainty.

Eldawyn shrugged. "Should we go talk to the Jarlessa? Maybe-"

"LAELETTE! LAELETTE, WHERE ARE YOU?" cried a voice that was running up the hill.

The man emerged to the top. He looked fairly average, wearing normal clothing with a rusty sword at his side and a torch in hand. Middle-aged. He looked strong, though.

"What are you three doing up here?" He asked, sounding angry. "And where is my wife, Laelette?"

Well... shit.

"Uh... sir... your wife attacked us," Percy said slowly. "She was digging up the coffin of Helgi, the girl who just died in the house-fire down there."

The man's expression softened. "Why would she do that?"

Sparrow cleared her throat. "Your Laelette was obsessed with Helgi. When was trying to disturb her remains, and then she attacked us. I had to defend myself. She was a vampire, I had no choice. I'm sorry."

"My Laelette is... dead... corrupted..." he said, sounding heartbroken. "I just... I can't... you couldn't have spared her?! SOMEHOW?!"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. She wouldn't stop for anything."

The man fell to his knees and cried for awhile. Percy stood there uncomfortably and shared a glance with Eldawyn. This was very, very sad.

"Sir," Percy finally said, "We're investigating the cause of the fire, and any knowledge on Laelette could help the process along."

He had avoided saying outright that Laelette was the one who set the fire.

"She... she left town weeks ago. Alva told me she left to join the Stormcloaks. Ah... my poor wife..."

_Alva. _Idgrod had mentioned her. She was involved in this, it seems.

"Did you notice anything strange about the way she was acting before she left?" Sparrow asked.

The man nodded. "Yes. She was spending a lot of time with Alva, though before she despised the woman. She was supposed to meet Alva the night she disappeared. Alva told me the next day she ran off to Windhelm."

Sparrow sighed. "You know, I think they may have met after all."

The man looked confused. "Wait, are you saying... by the Nine! Are you saying Alva is a vampire?"

The thief nodded. "Yes, actually, that's exactly what I'm saying. It's a possibility, anyway."

"No. You're wrong!" the man cried. "Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh. You can't just assume Alva is a vampire. I want someone locked up for my wife's fate... but not if it's the wrong woman. You have no way to prove it to the Jarlessa."

The sad man got up grabbed a nearby shovel. "I'm going to rebury the girl's coffin. It's the least I can do." As he shoveled on the first bit of dirt, he sighed. "I hope you are wrong about Alva, outsider."

"Let's go," Sparrow said, looking down at the body of the fallen vampire. She looked eager to be away from here. "Let's go find the Jarlessa."

* * *

"Idgrod is in the loo," Aslfur said. "I can suffice. What have you found out about the fire?"

_A whole lot_, Percy thought.

"A woman named Laelette set the fire," Eldawyn said. "But, uh... the bigger worry is that she was a vampire."

Aslfur nodded. Percy had realized by now that the brown-haired, blue-eyed Nord was not one to show a lot of emotion. "That could be a problem. Anything else? Anything about Hroggar, especially?"

"Yes, actually," Percy said. "Laelette was spending a lot of time with Alva before she disappeared a few weeks ago. She comes back a vampire, suddenly, after supposedly leaving town for the Stormcloaks."

"Hmm..." Aslfur looked at a nearby guard. "Widukind, can we allow someone to search someone else's house?"

Widukind shrugged. "If the person who is being searched is suspected of a crime, I don't suppose why we couldn't."

Aslfur sighed in relief. "Good. A search of Alva's house seems like the next logical step. Even if she isn't complicit, it might help out. The only problem is that we, of course, don't have a key to the place."

Both Eldawyn and Percy looked immediately to Sparrow. She sighed.

"I'm an infiltrator. I can pick locks. I'll do it," she volunteered half-heartedly.

The Jarlessa's husband looked at Percy with surprise. "You keep an infiltrator in your party, Dragonborn?"

"Yes," Percy said. "And given the current situation, I'd say it was a good idea."

Aslfur shrugged. "Long as you don't burgle any houses, I have no qualms with you doing this, miss... I never caught your name."

"Great!" Sparrow cried. "That's how I prefer it. Now you two can go off to sleep in the inn, alright? I can handle this."

"No, we should go with you," Eldawyn insisted.

"Nah, it's fine. You two should get some sleep. I'd like some alone time for this, if that's okay?"

Percy shrugged. "Sure. You can handle yourself. And I _am _tired."

* * *

Once the two had gone off to the inn. Sparrow was finally alone. Thank the Divines for that.

Not that she disliked the two or anything. She still felt indebted to Percy, even if he was a bit thick sometimes. And Eldawyn was likable and easy enough to get along with. But she craved being alone. That was how she had operated for years before agreeing to help the Dragonborn in his heroic, noble, and gallant quest.

Alva's house was supposed the closest one to Highmoon Hall - the name of the "palace" in Morthal - in the neighborhood to the west. Sparrow found it instantly. Time to scope it out.

Front door, probably locked, obviously. She skirted around the house, seeing if there was another entrance. There didn't seem to be. Groaning, she pulled out her lockpick and a tension wrench.

The whole process was fairly simple: you would probe around with lockpick until you felt the correct tumbler, and then you would turn the tension wrench like a key turning a lock. She'd learned even before she became a vampire and turned to the thief's lifestyle.

In one go, the door opened and Sparrow slipped inside easily. She scanned the room to find a sleeping man alone in a double bed. Sparrow figured it was that man, Hroggar. Interesting. She took one of her knockout poison-covered arrows and jabbed it into the man's arm. She needed to make sure he wouldn't wake up anytime soon.

A set of stairs led ominously down to a cellar. Not well hidden at all. Sparrow rolled her eyes and crept to the basement and slowly opened the door to avoid making a sound.

In the middle of the room was a coffin, which caused Sparrow to roll her eyes. As of recently, it was a fad for vampires to sleep in coffins. Mainly because vampires in the old stories did so, and many young people were romantic idiots. Clearly Alva was a vampire, and a stupid one at that. Coffins were uncomfortable, gave no benefit, and only made you more noticeable to society.

And just to the left, a woman was writing something down. Alva, probably. Sparrow dispelled the illusion magic that made her eyes look normal, let her fangs grow and cleared her throat. Alva turned to her, startled.

"Don't be startled, sister. I sensed a vampire in this house, and I only wish to speak with you," Sparrow said. She really hoped this would work.

Alva's own glowing eyes looked much less mature. She was wearing the clothes of an easy young lady rather than armor. She _was _rather attractive, which helped bring Hroggar under her spell, no doubt.

"Oh! Did Movarth send you?" Alva asked.

Sparrow nodded instantly. She'd actually heard about a vampire called Movarth - his tale was chronicled in an old book called "Immortal Blood". Whether this man was genuinely the vampire of legend or just someone using the name, Sparrow didn't know. "Yes, he sent me."

"Hopefully he isn't too upset with me," she said, looking sad. "I haven't had the courage to turn one of the guards yet. You know his master plan, right?"

"Not the whole thing. Could you fill me in?"

Alva looked a bit suspicious for a second before nodding her head. "Movarth wants me to turn the guards here against the town and make them my slaves. Then we can take the town, keep the people for cattle, and use the buildings to protect us from the sun."

The idea twisted Sparrow's stomach.

She hated vampires. She hated them a lot. They had destroyed her life, made her immortal, sent her down this path. Despite being one herself, it would be hard for someone to find a person who hated vampires more than her. And who better to hunt down vampires than a vampire herself?

And yet she nodded. "Ah, yes. I think I have heard that, now that I think about it. Ambitious... but we have faith in your abilities." She chanced a glance over at what she was writing. Looked like a journal. Hopefully written proof of this plan.

Under different circumstances, Sparrow would consider capturing the vampire alive and forcing her to tell the Jarlessa what she knew. But it was no option. Alva knew what she was. And so Sparrow needed a new plan.

She pointed to a painting of a sunset on the wall. "I'm sorry for going off topic, but that is just lovely. Who's it by?"

Alva smiled. "Oh, that one is just amazing, isn't it?" She turned her back to Sparrow to go look at it. "It's by a famous Breton man, Freveau. He-"

Her speech was cut off when the silver arrow was jammed through her throat. Blood sprayed on the painting, probably ruined forever. "Die, you stupid vampire," Sparrow whispered.

Alva gurgled vainly as she slowly died. Sparrow wrenched the arrow out of her, and tried to not feel bad. Alva was clearly just a hopeless romantic who had been turned against her will. Poor girl.

Sparrow cleaned off the arrow and snatched up Alva's journal.

* * *

"My life is dreary. Where is my prince come to rescue me? Where is my bold Nord warrior to sweep me off my feet?

"I met a man today when picking nightflowers. He is exciting and exotic. We kissed in the moonlight. It was so romantic. I'm going to see him again tonight.

"Now I understand the true colors of the night. Movarth has shown me the true black of night and the true red of blood. He has promised me a feast of blood if I do his bidding in Morthal.

"Hroggar was easy to seduce. Movarth said I should find a protector first, someone to watch over my coffin during the day. Hroggar is perfect.

"Laelette came to visit me tonight. She slaked my thirst. I've hidden her away to let her rise as my handmaiden. I've spread the rumor in town that she left to join the war. Fools.

"Movarth has confided his grand plan to me. I am to seduce the guardsman one at a time and make them my slaves. Then he and the others from the coven can descend upon Morthal and take the entire town. We won't kill them. They will become cattle for our thirst. An endless supply of blood and an entire town to protect us from the cursed sun.

"Hroggar's family is becoming inconvenient. I've told Laelette to kill them all, but make it look like an accident. Hroggar must be seen as innocent if he is going to be my protector.

"That little fool! Laelette burned Hroggar's family alive. I asked for an accident and she gave me a scandal. To make matters worse, she tried to turn his little girl, Helgi. Except Laelette couldn't even get that right. She killed the child and left the body to burn.

"Something is wrong with Laelette. She keeps talking about Helgi. I think her mind has snapped. She seems to think that the child can still be brought back to be her companion.

"There is a stranger in town, looking into the fire. I'll have to be careful."

Idgrod looked up from the girl's journal. "Well, it doesn't get much more damning than that."

The two were in Idgrod's war room at the Jarlessa's request. The old woman wanted the two to be alone for this.

"I must admit that I didn't think Alva had it in her," Idgrod said, sounding a bit impressed. "There is a problem, though."

"Yes?"

"This Movarth character is still a problem. He is a master vampire I thought was destroyed over a century ago," the Jarlessa said. "This is bad. He needs to be destroyed, and I would ask you and the Dragonborn and your elf friend to do it tomorrow."

Sparrow tried very hard to not be indignant. "I thought our task was figuring out if Hroggar was innocent or not. He _is _innocent. He fell under the spell of a vampire."

"One might say he is weak for doing so," Idgrod countered.

The thief shook her head. "No, you don't understand. When a vampire invades your mind, you instantly crumble. It's part of their dark magic."

"Have you ever done this to someone, vampire?"

Sparrow's heart skipped a beat. "Uh, what?"

"Don't play stupid. I know you are a vampire. I can see past illusion magic - I have already said I am a mystic. I know you are one, and that is why we are speaking in private."

Well... fuck.

Sparrow tried to stammer out a lie, but she only sighed and gave up. "Yeah, I'm a vampire. But I'm not in on Movarth's plan, I promise you."

"And how exactly can I trust you? How can I trust any vampire, if they can simply invade minds, as you described to me?"

"I-I promise you, Jarlessa, that I am not evil. I _hate _vampires for what they did to me, how they turned me. They ruined my life. Check Alva's house, and you will find her dead. I killed her with a silver arrow."

"And does the Dragonborn know you are a vampire?"

"Yes! He still keeps me along, because he trusts me!"

Unlike Percy, Sparrow was no warrior. If the guards converged on her, her only defense was running. She desperately needed to talk her way out of this.

"Look, we'll... we'll take care of this master vampire for you. Percy, Elda, and I, we'll do it. Tomorrow. I promise you," Sparrow pleaded.

Idgrod nodded slowly. "If you will do this for us, I will believe you. And, of course, I will have my daughter guide you to Ustengrav when you are finished."

Ustengrav. Right, Sparrow had almost forgotten about that. They had an actual reason to be doing all this.

"You had best get some rest, Cathrien Hassildor. For you will be needed greatly tomorrow. Your friends will need you."

"How did you-"

"Hush. Get some rest."

* * *

**19th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Early Morning**

Percy woke up, stretched, and stumbled out into the Moorside Inn in his underclothes.

There he found Sparrow and Eldawyn deep in conversion over cheese and bread. "Good to see you awake, Percy," Eldawyn said. "We've been discussing what happens next."

Despite being a bit groggy, Percy sat down at the table. The Altmer slid him a cup of water, which he thanked her for. "What'd you find last night, Sparrow?"

She looked slightly uncomfortable, almost a bit vulnerable, as she set down her cup to speak. "Alva was a vampire, as I thought. I killed her. I found a journal in her lair, talking about a plan by a master vampire named Movarth to enslave the town. We need to take care of him. After that, Idgrod's daughter will take us to Ustengrav."

Percy nodded. "A vampire enslaving town sounds... unpleasant. Yeah, that sounds like a thing we should do."

Eldawyn took a sip of what was probably an alcoholic beverage. "We should go as soon as everyone feels awake. The sooner we grab the Horn, the sooner we can get some more guidance from the Greybeards."

Percy took a few more minutes to eat and wake up before strapping on his boiled leather armor and getting his sheath belt in place. He rarely had time to admire his armor, so he decided to give it a once-over. The circular insignia in the middle was a finely-designed head of a dragon. Small words in some runic language he didn't know were going around the head in a never-ending circle. It was great craftsmanship by Eorlund Gray-Mane.

He pulled on a heavy bearskin cloak around his shoulders. He'd bought the thing in Helljarchen, and it was remarkably warm. Fighting with it was impractical, of course, so he could just toss it aside if they were waylaid.

He emerged to see that both Sparrow and Eldawyn looked ready to go. "We need to see Idgrod first and get directions to the place," Eldawyn said, wiping a strand of gold hair out of her eyes. "It's pretty cold out, just so you know."

Morthal looked much as it did the day before, though with less fog. Imperial soldiers were bustling all about, murmuring about an attack. War stuff, probably. Percy ignored it and lead his band towards Highmoon Hall.

Upon entering, he saw Jarlessa Idgrod XIII Ravencrone - yeah, that was her full name, the Ravencrones clearly liked the name Idgrod - sitting on her throne, looking more alert than the day before. "Good to see you three," she said. "The Legionnaires are all heading out to battle in the east, but on the way they noticed some shady figures near a cave about half a mile into the marshes due east. That's Movarth's Lair, most likely."

"Right. Should we go there now?" Percy asked.

"Best you get it done soon. With Alva and Laelette dead, Movarth might notice a lack of correspondence or something. Strike him now, when he is unprepared."

"We'll get it done."

A man in plain steel armor stepped forward from the fringes of the room. He took off his helmet to reveal a cleanly-shaven head and a neatly-groomed goatee. He looked young for baldness. "I am Waldemar, Dragonborn," he introduced himself. The name was pronounced "Vald-ih-mar." "I would ask to join you and help fight this vampire."

"Can I ask why?"

Waldemar crossed his arms. "Alva was my sister, and I reserve the right to avenge her corrupter."

Percy didn't have to think about it. "You're in. Are you good with a sword?"

The man brandished a wicked-looking axe of steel and conjured a ball of fire in his other hand. "Axe and magic."

Idgrod cleared her throat. "Waldemar won our town tournament last year, beating the captain or the guard. He is quite capable."

"Fantastic! Of course you can come with us."

"I will be sending two of our guard - Widukind and Aethelmund - along with you four, to boost morale of the town. They are some of my best."

Two men in Morthal armor bowed her heads and said, "Aye."

Percy nodded. He had a small army here. "Sounds great. Let's get him, guys."

* * *

The walk to the cave was relatively short. The entrance was caked with blood and had an impaled wolf's head on a stick. "Charming. Really like the aesthetic they were going for here," Eldawyn muttered.

Immediately inside were two frostbite spiders, which conjured up bad memories for Percy but were quickly destroyed by Eldawyn's lightning magic. "Suppose they were using them like guard dogs?" Percy asked no one in particular.

Waldemar chuckled at that. "Having a pet spider would be something, wouldn't it?"

Percy wondered if he could somehow domesticate one and bring it back to earth, if only to scare Annabeth. And that made him think of home, which made him lose his focus. He needed to concentrate on the cave.

"I'll scout ahead into the next chamber," said Widukind - or was it Aethelmund? - and he dashed out into the next big room of the cave. He was immediately hit by an arrow to the chest and stumbled back.

The man pulled the arrow out of his chest with a grunt. "There are, indeed, many vampires in there."

Eldawyn hit him with a little healing magic while Sparrow pulled out her bow. "Percy, Waldemar, and Aeth-whatever, run down into the cave. I'll cover you. Try to move quickly."

The Altmer finished with the healing. "Widukind, stay up here and arch with us. You three get down there as quick as possible."

And they launched the attack.

Percy went first, closely followed by the two natives of Morthal. The Dragonborn counted at least seven vampires that were dotted in the large cavern, while a dining table sat in the center. A smug-looking man sat at the head of it, not getting up yet. Movarth.

"Stay close together, watch each other's backs!" Percy cried as he dashed at a burly vampire with green skin. He crossed swords with him briefly before Percy cried a calculated **"FUS!"** that staggered the guy, allowing an easy kill.

Waldemar was going one-on-one with a female mage who was throwing up magical shields to block his axe and his fire magic. Aethelstan was slowly fighting a brutish Nord vampire, focusing on blocking and keeping the creature away from him.

Movarth continued to sit confidently with a magic barrier, which blocked all arrows or spells that tried to kill him. Percy decided to go after the other vampires who tried to counterattack against the Sparrow, Eldawyn, and Widukind.

He ran through them, catching them by surprise for the most part. He was still too fatigued to use the voice again; he needed to be patient. He glanced over to see Waldemar finally kick out the legs of who he was fighting and finish her, and then help Aethelstan with his. It was now only Movarth, who dismissed his shield.

"You require my attention!" the vaster vampire cried

Percy was on him in half a second. Movarth was quite good with an ancient-looking steel sword, blocking all of Percy's attacks. Eventually, when he felt confident, Percy cried, **"FUS RO DAH!"**

But the ancient vampire disappeared into a cloud of bat before the shout hit him. "How did he do that?" Waldemar wonder aloud.

Suddenly, Percy felt cold breath on his neck. "Surprise," whispered an ancient sounding voice. And then there was this feeling of pure bliss beginning at his neck.

And then Percy felt cold. He could barely hear everyone else crying out before it got so cold that he fell unconscious.

* * *

"Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Eldawyn cried.

Sparrow could barely breathe when she saw the vampire bite Percy. Though she probably wouldn't say it to him, she had a tremendous amount of respect for the kid and admired him for a lot of things. He was _not _going to become a vampire. She'd do whatever it took.

And suddenly, an idea hit her.

While Waldemar fought Movarth one on one with help with the others, Sparrow headed down into the cave. She scooped up Percy's body and placed it on the table, letting loose her usually subdued vampire strength.

Waldemar managed to burn the vampire greatly before chopping off its head with an axe. The vampire threat was dealt with, but they had a bigger issue.

Everyone immediately crowd around Percy's body on the table. It was quickly cooling. "By the Nine... what are we going to do?" One of the guards asked.

"I can fix him," Sparrow said, with no enthusiasm.

Eldawyn gave her a strange look. "You can?!"

"Yes, I think so." She looked up to the two lawmen. "I need you two to go back to the city and tell the Jarlessa that the dragon is dealt with. We don't need her worrying."

"And if she asks about you four?" Widukind asked.

"Tell them we needed to further search the place, I don't know. Just go!"

The two hesitantly left the room.

"What on earth are you planning, woman?" Waldemar asked with uncertainty.

Sparrow close her eyes and exhaled. "Vampirism starts like any other disease. It is in his blood. I can take it out of his blood before it kills and then reanimates him."

"And how can you-"

The vampire look her friend right in the eye. "Do you trust me, Elda? Will you let me do what needs to be done?"

"What do you me-"

"Just. Swear. It."

The Altmer looked scared. "I swear that I won't interfere."

Sparrow nodded. "Good. Neither of panic or make any loud noises; that's only gonna slow me down."

She let her fangs extend and looked at Percy's neck. She quickly jammed her fangs in, which caused an audible gasp from both of them. Sparrow closed her eyes and really concentrated.

She started to slowly probe his blood, checking for the corrupted bits of it. When she came across it, she sucked it out. She then deliberated cleaned it in her body and injected it back in. She tried to explain the process to Percy months later, but she'd inevitably given up and told him that he wouldn't understand, that he wasn't a vampire.

She reckoned she spent awhile hunched over the powerful figure reduced to unconsciousness. She deliberately didn't feed on his clean blood - the kind that sustains vampires - which took a lot of self-control. While feeding on a person didn't necessarily give that person the disease unless the feeder deliberately wanted to, it was easy to be mindless and transmit it anyway. Sparrow had to be constantly vigilant.

Once everything seemed clean to her, she gave his blood another check. Yes, it was clean. She pulled her fangs away and wiped off a few drops on her chin. She turned to see that both Waldemar and Eldawyn still looked shocked. "He's clean of the disease now," the thief said, with her eyes and teeth in their natural state. "And I'm a vampire, in case you haven't figured that out yet."

Eldawyn looked angry. "We were traveling with a fucking vampire halfway across the country and you didn't bother telling us?!" She asked exasperatedly.

Sparrow nodded sheepishly. "Percy knew, and he trusted me. And if you hadn't had a vampire around, you would've had one starting right about now. No one could've saved him but me."

"Yes, but perhaps a nice warning would've sufficed!" The Altmer said, clearly still pissed off. "Or perhaps you should wear a sandwich board declaring your vampiric status."

Sparrow quarreled with Eldawyn, with some petty race insults thrown in there as well some other low blows. Waldemar just looked on, seemingly amused.

"It's a moot point, isn't it?" He offered. "Yeah, she didn't tell you about it, elf, but the thief has only fought other vampires and save the Dragonborn's life. As long as she isn't feeding off of you, who cares?"

Eldawyn softened a bit. "You haven't been feeding off of me, have you?"

"No! I've been scavenging - bandits, other dregs of society. No one decent. I'd feed off of these vampires if the blood wasn't foul."

Before Eldawyn could retort, Percy started stirring.

* * *

He felt like his head weighed about a million pounds and Percy woke to find himself on a table. Behind him he could hear squabbling between Sparrow and Eldawyn. They suddenly stopped as he tried to get himself into a sitting position, only for his vision to freak out and his head to spin.

Soon, both of his normal companions plus Waldemar were in front of him

"Take it easy, Percy, take it easy," Sparrow insisted.

The son of Poseidon furrowed his brow. "What happened? All I can remember is being cold and dark and..." he felt the sudden urge to vomit, and he did so, trying to aim away from his allies. He was successful.

Eldawyn handed him a health potion, which he drank quickly. It tasted like cough syrup, but he choked it down. "You were bitten by a vampire," Sparrow said slowly. "You were infected with Vampirism."

Percy felt his skin crawl. "So am I cured or am I a vampire?"

"Your _favorite _vampire spent fifteen minutes with her fangs inside of you _cleaning your blood," _Eldawyn said. "While it seems to have worked, it was terrifying to watch."

Percy looked at Sparrow while his vision blurred again. He tried to focus on her. "You saved me," he said. "And now she knows your vampire?"

"I do too," Waldemar said in his deep voice.

"Well. Seeing that neither of you have killed her, I take it you both have no real issue with it?"

Eldawyn looked at Sparrow with malice. "I take issue with her keeping secrets, nothing else."

"You're alive, so who cares?" Waldemar said with an indifferent shrug.

"I like the way you think, sir." Percy stuggled to his feet, and when he supported himself stars danced in his eyes.

"You're in no condition to venture into a dangerous ruin today," Sparrow declared. "We'll wait up in town for another day."

And the four hobbled back towards the town, eager to be done with vampires and all of the rubbish that went with it.

And, ah crap, Percy still needed to make sure his Khajiit buddies were okay. So he had to do that, too.

* * *

**Maybe now you understand why I spent so much time on this quest. **

**Face Hugz,**

**Professor Marmalade, AKA the Daedric Prince of Crossovers**


	20. The Kingdoms of Man

**Attention to my darling readers: FF shat itself when I tried to post my super-long chapter and gave out a corrupted update. So if you missed Chapter 19 - Laid to Rest - make sure you read that first. Ya knucklehead.**

**Just a warning: this chapter will contain zero Percy. I'm checking in on the other important events in Tamriel that are happening concurrently with Percy's quest. It's all very important and is vital to his adventure, so I figure I ought to document it.**

**Oh, and rather important note: in this chapter, I introduce Tyrism. This is my shameless pilfering of real-life Marxist groups (Lord Tyrus is basically just Karl Marx), specifically a loose interpretation of old state-socialist doctrine. If you don't know what state-socialism is, you should look it up. If you're lazy, then just picture super loose Communism.**

**And the Stormcloak song is sung to the tune of "Bonnie Blue Flag," a song that I quite enjoyed in BioShock Infinite. Apparently it's an old American Civil War tune, I don't know. I'm not American.**

* * *

**19th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Borknid Hill, Eastern Hjaalmarch**

**Midmorning**

Captain Arrald Frozen-Heart was atop his horse, ready for battle.

He and his four thousand men - all proud Sons and Daughters of Skyrim, pious Nord warriors of faith and virtue - were amassed at the top of Borknid Hill. Here was where the Stormcloak Army would go on the offensive. Finally.

The hill straddled the frozen wastes of The Pale and the marshes of Hjaalmarch. Below them, at the bottom of the hill, members of the Imperial Legion were attempting to organize. The Stormcloaks definitely had them outnumbered.

Most of the Stormcloak army was being sent south to reinforce towns down near Riften. The Dragon Prophet was perceived as a threat to Ulfric's reign, and rightfully so. The force here was big enough.

The Sons of Skyrim were slowly falling into formation. A rousing rendition of "Blue and Green Flag" was being sung throughout the encampment, which was quite good for morale. Arrald even found himself whispering the words to himself.

_"Oh, we're a band of brothers! Native to the soil!  
Fighting for our property we gained through honest toil!  
So when our rights were threatened, yes, the cry grew NEAR AND FAR!  
We raise on high the Blue and Green Flag - yes, Nordic rights for all!  
Hurrah! Hurrah!  
For Nordic rights, hurrah!  
We rally around the Blue and Green Flag that shimmers like a star!"_

And out of nowhere, a chorus of voices was heard:

"FOR NORDIC RIGHTS, HURRAH!" Came a collective cry from down the hill.

Imperial soldiers charged suddenly, catching Arrald off-guard. "FORM UP, MEN! PROTECT FLANKS!" The Captain immediately rode through his shocked soldiers to a position where he could better evaluate the situation.

The red Imperials crashed into the Stormcloak "lines", catching the sanguine Sons of Skyrim by surprise. Many men called out "DIRTY IMPERIAL TRICKERY!"

Arrald tried to instill courage in his many men, but the pack of four thousand was far too disorganize. Arrald himself was worried about being flanked, and so he commandeered a small cavalry band to go with him along the back lines.

For hours, Sons of Skyrim everywhere held valiantly. The Empire continued to send men up the hill to try and simply overwhelm them. The worst part was that it seemed to be working. Everywhere, brave Nords were being slaughtered by those imperialist pigs.

"Consider a... tactical retreat back to Dawnstar, Captain Arrald," one of the cavalrymen said. "We must reorganize."

The stubborn leader drew his sword. "Let us charge into battle ourselves."

Without waiting for approval, Arrald charged towards the melee. "FIGHT ON, MEN! THEY THREATEN TO TAKE YOUR HOMES, YOUR FAMILIES, YOUR GODS! WE MUST-"

The words died in his throat, and the Captain swore loudly.

Menacing Imperial Battlemages advanced. Heavily armored men with lightning and fire and ice at their command. Arrald was now cursing the fact that the Stormcloak Army didn't take magic users.

"CHARGE DOWN THE HILL, MEN!" Arrald cried yet again, in his best commander voice.

The few that weren't occupied by other Imperials turned and fled the battle. "COWARDS! YOU-"

An arrow whistled through the air. It was fired from behind him, struck him square in the back. The one weak spot in the Stormcloak set of armor. Treason! A false Son of Skyrim must've fired the shot.

"OUR CAPTAIN IS DONE! RETREAT! RETREAT!"

And sound faded, the proud Nord nationalist fell face-first into the snow. He could feel things fading fast... was this how he would die? Betrayed by his own man?

He could hear Imperial soldiers talk above him as he faded away.

* * *

Legate Taurinus Duilis was called forth by his jovial sounding soldiers. Lying in a pile of his own blood was a Stormcloak commander.

The weary Colovian raised his gladius and grinned. His old muscles were sore of battle, but his strategy had worked beautifully. The Stormcloaks - and Nords in general - were always so concerned about respect and tradition and winning with honor.

Honor wasn't what had turned the Great War into a stalemate. Titus Mede II's trickery at the Battle of the Red Ring - which had ultimately saved the Empire from total Thalmor annexation - had been won by hiding the Seventh Legion under General Decianus in the Colovian Highlands. Taurinus himself had been a member of that army.

Trickery always worked, honor be damned.

"My dear Legionnaires," Taurinus Duilis cried, "we have won a decisive victory against those who would see the Empire bleed today!"

A great cheer went up.

"We are on orders to dig in here. Make camp, my tired friends. Tend to the wounded, the dead. You will be notified when you are needed. For the Empire!"

"FOR THE EMPIRE!"

Taurinus sheathed his blade and dropped his shield. He turned to a few of his Tribunes - those who were just belong Legates. Starn, a large Nord, gave him an odd look.

"You've not mentioned 'digging in,'" he said, sounding surprised. "Have you been holding out orders on us, Legate?"

Taurinus grinned sheepishly. "Perhaps."

"Well, why on earth are we digging in? We have the Stormcloaks on their heels, running back to Dawnstar. We should crush them now!"

The Legate sighed. "We don't have the men to advance."

"What do you mean?" Tribune Vance asked. The Redguard looked cold in the morning light, with his arms crossed. Even the winter gear the Legion used, the north could get cold.

"Tullius is worried part of the Legion will be recalled to deal with the problem back in Cyrodiil." Taurinus lowered his voice. "Emergency messenger falcon brought the news that the Emperor's been kidnapped back home. Not only that, but his heirs were assassinated. News is slowly spreading through couriers now, but most of the men still don't know."

"By the Nine..." Starn muttered, clearly not caring about his heresy. Not like any of the Tribunes were going to run off and tattle on him to the Thalmor, at any rate. "That could be bad."

"Of course it could be, you big oaf," Vance muttered. He looked back to Taurinus. "If the Emperor isn't recovered and an heir found, there'll be civil war. We'll be recalled to deal with the problem."

"With no Emperor, who would we be fighting for? The Imperial Parliament?" Starn asked, not all offended by the oaf comment. Just fun and games between the two.

Taurinus wasn't sure how to answer the question, so he only shook his head. "With luck, the Emperor will be found, the heir crisis resolved, and everything settled. We will follow General Tullius's orders if and when there is a dramatic change in policy."

"Tullius has gone native," Starn said, with a cheerful grin. "He's been stationed here for ten years now. The man likes it here. He will not easily give up and march south, I think."

A silence settled over them. Taurinus cleared his throat. "We should be overseeing camp construction today, and later we go back to Morthal and buy up all their lumber. We need to establish fortifications quickly. We are holding this front."

* * *

**19th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Cave southwest of the Imperial City**

**Noon**

"You're not just a anarchist, are you?"

Rian shrugged as he continued his blood magic ritual. "I'm a simple man, Emperor. I think you analyze me too deeply."

The old man sat contently in his bonds, rather used to them by now. Rian was feeding him and giving him water while the man was being held hostage, which had helped him grow more and more comfortable. Pliable.

It had been a week or so since Rian had dragged the two in here, and no lawmen had even come close. He'd chosen a rather secluded area of the Heartland, one that not many travelers fared. And it seemed to be working.

Most of the time spent involved Rian preparing some sort of blood magic ritual. The anarchist wasn't spilling any beans about its purpose, and Titus II was only left to guess his intentions.

The Emperor suddenly gasped. "Now I recognize you. By the Eight... you're a Tyrist, aren't you?"

Rian glanced back at the man while he carefully drew on the cave floor in chalk. "And what would make you say that, my good man?"

"I have seen you leading marches in the Imperial City... yes, the Imperial Parliament cannot stand you."

The Tyrist shrugged. "Fair enough. World Revolution and Tyrism go on well enough together. I was elected to a seat in the Low House by the people of Cheydinhal, and yet I had my seat revoked before I ever set foot in the building."

"Why would you want to be in Low House?" Titus asked honestly. "You know they have no votes in the Parliament, right? They are only there to submit ideas and make the House of Aristocrats feel better about being aristocratic."

"It's not about the power, it's the symbol," Rian explained, as he finished his chalk circles. He then began drawing spokes, as if he were recreating a wheel. "A Tyrist in Parliament? It would make Lord Tyrus of Kvatch proud."

Lord Tyrus was a minor noble from the old city of Kvatch who had fought in the Great War on the side of the Empire. He had become so disillusioned with the order of the world that he would go on to write a pamphlet called "The Pragmatic Solution," which called for an end to big empires and wars, the abolition of the free market, and for the rights of the common man. After his death by assassination, Tyrism rose as a radical political faction. Rian admired the man a great deal.

"And you wanted to be that symbol for your cause?" The Emperor asked.

Rian shrugged. "Someone has to do it. I'm a better killer than I am a politician, by I stand for my fellow man, and I will do what I have to."

The man finished his drawing. Eight spokes in the wheel, coming into a smaller circle in the middle. "Can I ask what this represents?" Titus asked cautiously.

Rian nodded vigorously and smiled. At least someone appreciated his work. "You know how in the night sky, the stars represent the Aedra, and all the black space in between is Oblivion, and therefore the Daedra?"

"Of course."

The Tyrist gestured to the wheel. "This is the same idea, but simplified. Everything outside the circle is the Void - the parts of creation we know nothing about. The wheel is everything we understand - Aurbis. The Eight Spokes are the original Eight Divines - they hold the wheel together, keep everything from falling apart." The man gestured to a blank spot. "In between the Eight Spokes are the Sixteen Gaps. These are the Sixteen Daedric Princes. Despite their ripped holes in creation, the wheel still holds."

Rian looked at the Emperor sideways. "Are you familiar with Vivec, my Emperor? The old God-hero of Morrowind. He wrote the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec years ago."

Titus nodded. "I am familiar, yes. We have a set of the books at the Imperial Library."

"Well, in Vivec's Twenty-First Lesson - the Scripture of the Wheel - he uses this circle to explain the universe. The Begotten Hole in the middle of the wheel was the place where Lorkhan - Vivec calls him the 'Second Serpent' - decided to make Nirn." Rian moved slightly to the left and readied his chalk for a new drawing. "But, if we turn the wheel sideways, we only have a straight line - the Tower."

Rian drew a straight line.

"The Ehlnofey could see this, and built towers - Adamantine Tower, White-Gold Tower, the Orichalc Tower of Yokuda, the Dragon Tower of Akavir, the Soul Tower in Atmora. The other physical towers - the Throat of the World, Red Mountain, you see. The Tower is the entire universe, and what is keeping it together."

Rian frowned and sighed. "This just endlessly fascinates me. In the next verse of his sermon, Vivec mentions that 'the heart of the Second Serpent' allows one to see even deeper. And yet I do not have the Heart of Lorkhan, and I shall never, sadly. If I did, I could know CHIM, like Tiber Septim. I could reshape the world in glorious image of Tyrus. And yet... no. It is not in the cards."

Titus looked deeply confused and slightly frightened by Rian's now insane-sounding ramblings. He had no idea what CHIM was, or anything about the Heart of Lorkhan other than pure legend.

"I have rambled on too long, my good man," Rian finally said. "It is just a symbol through which to channel blood magic, like a pentagram. And now... I ask you..." The Tyrist pulled out a knife and made a small cut in his hand. "Do you wish to die, or do you wish to live in exile?"

"Die," Titus said, with no hesitation.

Rian shrugged. "It is your choice. You remember the speech I fed you last night? I'll need you to repeat that when I tell you."

"What exactly are you doing?"

A single droplet of blood hit the very middle of the Begotten Hole that was Nirn, and it soon magically spread up the Eight Spokes of the Eight Divines. "I have set up a magical communications network with my fellow Tyrists across the Empire," he explained. "When I cast the spell, your face shall appear in the sky over every major city in the Empire. And important palaces and government buildings. You shall read the speech to them, your people."

Titus nodded, feeling sick.

The blood had now evenly spread across the strange wheel, and it glowed. Rian readied a spell in his hand. "Ready to make history, my Emperor?"

Titus only nodded again.

Rian cast the spell, and gestured for the old monarch to start. He cleared his throat and began.

"Citizens of the proud Empire of Tamriel... I am your Emperor, Titus II," the monarch said without enthusiasm. "I have been missing for seven days now, and I do not presume to know how you are reacting to it. But I have never been in danger. I am not harmed."

A quick glance at Rian, who was nodding for him to keep going.

"I regret to see that my kidnapping was all a plot, designed by myself. I... I wished to flee the country and defect to the Aldmeri Dominion. I hired a man to kill my close family to make it look convincing."

Titus Mede could hardly do this without choking on his words, but he knew he had to talk. He knew it.

"I did this because I planned on re-invading Cyrodiil with the help of the Dominion in order to fully stake my claim as Emperor and abolish the Imperial Parliament." The aging Emperor coughed. "I stopped just outside the city because I realized just how traitorous and grievous my plan was. This is why I am confessing."

He took a deep breath. "I am guilty of high treason against the Empire and the deaths of my family. These are both offenses worthy of death. As such, I am returning to the Imperial City to face my just punishment. And so, as of now..."

Rian nodded eagerly, egging the man on.

"As of now, I abdicate the Ruby Throne. House Mede retracts all land claims to the Emperorship. I know not who shall replace me - if anyone - but the reign of my proud forebears is over. I have full confidence in the Imperial Parliament and Chancellor DuMont's ability to run the country effectively until a permanent solution can be found."

Rian finished the spell, grinning madly. "Splendid! One of my men has left us two horses outside. The nearest town is Weye. I shall see you into the hands of an Imperial guardsman, and then I shall go about my business and leave you to your date with the High Court."

Titus only grimaced and nodded. "Off to meet my fate, at last."

* * *

**20th of Heartfire, Year 201 of the Fourth Era**

**Dragonwood, The Rift**

**Morning**

Malik stood on the walls, tense.

His gleaming steel armor - done in the style of the ancient dragon priests - was in perfect condition. Not that he would be facing battle today - his brave soldiers would.

He glanced over to his proud city, Dragonwood. Taken by his followers from the small garrison of Legionnaires and soldiers of the old Graaf of Dragonwood, a weak man named Hulgar. Malik's disciples had killed all members of the old order's government, and destroyed the heathen temples of the Eight - replaced with shrines to the dragons, the Old Gods, and Talos.

The people were quick to embrace the religion of the conquerors, mainly due to dissatisfaction with the old regime. The religion Malik brought with him brought Talos along with it, which helped its spread. Old followers of the Imperial gods were usually taken care of quietly by elite members of Malik's guard.

The current palace, a small wooden building, was a temporary residence until Helgen could be retaken from the greedy Empire and turned into a gleaming capitol for the small realm under the control of the Fylkir. That was Malik's next plan, right after he dealt with the invaders marching up to Dragonwood.

A Stormcloak force of men numbering at least three thousand marched for the city, according to Malik's scouts. Also coming was a token Imperial force of maybe half of that, clearly under the impression that the religious uprising was clearly minor at best. They had another thing coming.

Despite the proud fervor of Malik's army, they numbered around four hundred. Impressive for a force only a month old, but not enough in the long run. The men and women of this force were mostly not very well armored, but they were well armed. A nearby Dwemer ruin the locals called Avanchnzel was home to many technologies, and Malik had sent his engineers to scavenge what they could.

As such, the city was well defended.

The soldiers of the Fylkirate were bustling about, getting into position. Many had little armor if any; access to mines was scarce, and as such whatever armor could be found was scavenged. The lead smith, Sigurd, had made twenty or so new suits of Draugr-styled armor for the Fylkir himself and his lieutenants.

One of Malik's chief officers, Fraki, came running up. "Fylkir, we need our plan."

"We seal ourselves in and defend against them. Siege warfare. We wait for the clueless Imperials to stumble at the Stormcloaks, they clash and weaken each other. When we feel confident, we march out to finish off the heathens. Only if we must."

Suddenly, a horn was sounded from a nearby guard tower. That meant the enemy was in sight.

Malik took a deep breath. The Fylkir, The Sword of Shor, the Dragon Prophet. Titles bestowed upon him by his most trusted followers. "Fylkir" was the old Nord word for gatherer or leader of the people. Shepherd, in some transliterations. A responsibility he bore as best he could.

He took in a deep breath and scratched at his close-trimmed red beard. It was time to inspire his flock.

The Fylkir took place on the parapet, so he could be seen by most of the people of his city. His soldiers looked up at him, expectantly.

Malik was no fool. He knew he had a great talent for persuasion and speaking, and he used it to his advantage whenever he could. Words could sway populations, win wars. And he was always good at words.

"MY BRAVE PEOPLE!" Malik cried. "We have not come this far to die in our own city! We have submitted to Talos and the Old Gods. WE ARE CHOSEN BY THE HEAVENS! WE WILL EMERGE VICTORIOUS THIS DAY!"

A great cry went up, and the energy was building.

"We have BEGGED FOR FORGIVENESS at the feet of the dragons, the angels of death! Today we will show the heretic Stormcloaks and godless Imperials what happens to those who will not submit!"

The Fylkir's blood was rushing. His people were believing him. They could do this. They _would _do this.

"NO EMPEROR OR KING CAN SAVE US! ONLY WE CAN SAVE OURSELVES! **REFORMATION THROUGH FLAME!**"

**"REFORMATION THROUGH FLAME!"**

"EVERYONE, TO POSITIONS! PROTECT THOSE WHO CANNOT FIGHT! FOR THE GODS AND THE DESTITUTE, FIGHT!"

**"REFORMATION THROUGH FLAME!"**

Malik had trouble catching his breath as a smile spread across his face. A month ago, the man was a simple engineer, an admirer of Dwemer craftsmanship living alone in Helgen. Now, the Sword of Shor.

He slowly descended from the parapet to find his top officers readying and arming the troops. Stormcloaks could be seen marching south in narrow columns. Their swords and shields gleamed in the morning light.

Unfortunately for them, Dragonwood would not fall to weak swords and shields.

Atop the walls were super-powered Dwemer ballistae that Malik had his best engineers create from parts salvaged at Avanchnzel. Twenty of them existed atop the walls, each wielding by expert marksman. The ballistae bolts were as big as spears. Anyone on the receiving end of one would be obliterated.

The next level of defense down were thirty more marksmen with experimental Dwemer Repeating crossbows. Each held eight bolts, and could fire half a second apart. Each bolt packed enough power to punch through steel armor with ease.

Further down were standard archers, all with longbows. Fifty of them, at least.

Malik went to the middle level, where he could watch the battle unfold. The nearest marksman - a woman Malik recognized as someone the men called Ulfgar the Silent. She nodded. "My Fylkir."

The Stormcloaks continued to march loudly. They slowly blundered their way towards the city, singing their songs they were well-known for. They had equipment for assault; ladders and dormant trebuchets and even a few siege towers. Clearly they thought the place mostly undefended.

They entered range. All around, Malik heard his brave captains cry, "FIRE AT WILL!"

Hundreds of bolts, spears, and arrow flew through the air. The unsuspecting Stormcloaks were easily and quickly cut down. The Dwemer Repeaters fired quickly, accurately, and with great strength. In thirty seconds, at least a hundred Stormcloaks fell to missile weaponry.

The men broke ranks and rushed for the city, many more being picked off by arrows and bolts. Some Stormcloaks tried to form a shield wall so as the maneuver up to the sealed gates. Fools.

A rather large vat of flammable oil had been hidden above the gate for this very reason.

Malik realized that these men had a battering ram with them. They were attempting to break down the gate... and they did so alone. The rest of the Stormcloaks had fallen into formation, shields up. The Fylkirate's noble marksmen held their shots; their stock of arrows and bolts and spears were limited.

Just as the group of twenty or twenty-five Stormcloaks reached the gate - shields above their heads to deflect rocks the defenders might toss down. Malik cried, "THE OIL!"

An incredibly strong soldier - a rather pious if a bit brutish and simple-minded man called Aenar - hefted the vat of oil and dumped it onto the besiegers below.

While they initially panicked, they realized it seemed to be a harmless liquid. They were soaked, but they continued setting up the ram.

Until someone on the wall shot a fire arrow.

The small party burst into flame almost instantly. They cried and screamed and scrabbled helplessly at their skin and armor, while a great cheer of joy went up through the Fylkir's ranks. "REFORMATION THROUGH FLAME!"

The remaining Stormcloaks looked a bit shell-shocked, unsure what to do. Which was when the token Imperial force rode in from the west. Many of the defenders of Dragonwood laughed as the two sides clashed. Rather than waste ammunition, the defenders simply watched the two sides tear each other apart.

After a solid fifteen minutes of fighting - allowing marksmen to drink, feed, and rest their legs and eyes for a bit - the Stormcloaks had finally fought back their Imperial nemesis at major losses. Only a few hundred out of the few thousand that had originally taken the field for the Stormcloaks lived. The man who was clearly the Stormcloak officer in charge took one look at the weaponized city and ordered a retreat.

Seeing the Stormcloaks turn from battle caused a great many cheers to go up. A few archers took potshots at the fleeing men, taking out a few more.

When they had finally left view of his proud city, Malik felt his heart swell with pride and joy.

"WE HAVE WON A GREAT VICTORY AGAINST OUR VILE ENEMIES, MY FRIENDS!" He cried. "BUT SOON WE SHALL HIDE NO LONGER IN OUR CITY; NO, SOON WE SHALL GO ON THE OFFENSIVE, AND STRIKE AGAINST THE EVIL AND DECADENCE OF THE EMPIRE, AND THE EGOTISTICAL AND FOOLISH STORMCLOAKS!"

Another great cry. One of Malik's chief lieutenants strode up to him. He held a cup of water in his hand. Alcohol was discouraged under the rules Malik established.

The lieutenant grinned. "I assume we'll be putting together more Dwemer Repeaters?"

"Of course."

* * *

**Sorry if you're a Stormcloak supporter, they kinda got the shit slapped out of them in this one. And the Imperials too. No one is happy after all of this but anarchists and the Fylkirate.**

**Oh, and I got a few questions about the strange names I gave to OCs in Morthal - Widukind, Aethelmund, etc. Well, I got it in my head that because of how isolated and cut-off Morthal is, they ought to have a unique culture. And so - for some arbitrary reason - I modeled them after the last of the Saxons. The Saxons were the last pagan Germans to hold out against Charlemagne. Kinda worshiped Norse gods. They were pretty cool. Widukind is the name of one of the most famous Saxon generals around the time that Charlemagne stomped them.**

**That's an extremely irrelevant history lesson that I talked about for no reason. So yeah. Hjaalmarch = Saxony. Hope that clears up any linguistic confusion.**


	21. Important Update

**Hey, you guys. No, I don't have a chapter for y'all. And I'd to announce something.**

**I'm going on another hiatus. I'm sorry that I'm the most inconsistent writer this sight has ever seen, but that's the long and short of it. I'm stuck and I can't quite figure out how I want to pace this thing if I want to finish in the next several years (seriously). **

**Also, exams are happening, which isn't good. I have a significant other, which saps away even more time. And also, I'm writing an original piece of work that I eventually want to have published. Original fiction seems more important to me than fanfiction, especially since I'm aiming to be a journalist/writer as my full-time profession one day. So my time needs to go towards that, especially since I'm creating an entire fantasy-_ish _(not exactly; there are no monsters, magic, or non-human sentient races) and that is very time-consuming.**

**I hope you all can understand and put up with my bullshit. This story is a labor of love for me, but it's hard to justify spending my time writing it when my future profession could be at stake. I'm sorry, you guys. You're the best.**

**\- Professor Marmalade**


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